n/^ v*
'"^ '*
* .
MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
liy the Same Author
ni()GRAPHK:AL
American Bf>okmcn (1898)
Phillips Brooks (in " Beacon Biographies," 1899)
Life and Ixrttcrs of George Bancroft (1908)
Life and Labors of Bishop Hare (191 1)
Ixttcrs of Charles Elliot Norton (with Sara Norton,
I9>j)
George von I^ngerkc Meyer: His Life and Public
Services ( Kyiy)
NVemoirs of the Harvard Dead (19:0, 1921, — )
HISTORICAL
Boston, the Place and the People (1903)
Boston Common: Scenes from Four Centuries
(1910)
The Boston Symphony Orchestra (19I4)
The Humane StKiety of the Commonwealth of
NLissachusetts (1918)
The Atlantic Monthly and Its Makers (1919)
VKRSE
Shadows (1897)
Harmonies (1909)
EDITED
'Ihc Beacon Biographies (l I volumes, 1899- 19 10)
The Memory of Lincoln (1899)
Home I-etters of General Sherman (1909)
Lines of Battle, by Henry Howard Brownell
(191:)
The Harvaril Volunteers in Europe (1916)
A Scholar's letters to a Young Lady (1920)
Mit^i. FiKi^un
MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
J
A CHRONICLE OF
EMINENT FRIENDSHIPS
DRAWN CHIEFLY FROM THE DIARIES OF
Mrs. JAMES T. FIELDS
BY
M. A. DeWOLFE HOWE
' / stay a little longer, as one stays
To co'ver up the embers that still burn
JVITH ILLUSTRATIONS
THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY PRESS
BOSTON
Fl2
■S
corrmciiT, igJi. ■▼
M. A. DEWOtrr. HOWE
P«I!«TED IM THE
United State* or Aueeica
OCT -9 '^2
C)CLA6b3r)9l
Avc
CONTENTS
I. Preliminary 3
II. The House and the Hostess .... 6
III. Dr. Holmes, the Friend and Neighbor. . 17
IV. Concord and Cambridge Visitors ... 53
V. With Dickens in America 135
VI. Stage Folk and Others 196
VII. Sarah Orne Jewett 281
ILLUSTRATIONS
Mrs. Fields Frontispiece
From an early photograph
A Note of Acceptance 9
Autograph of Julia Ward Howe
The Offending Dedication 15
From First Edition of Hawthorne's "Oiu- Old Home"
An Early Photograph of Dr. Holmes ... 18
Reduced Facsimile of Dr. Holmes's 1863 Address to
the Alumuni of Harvard 23
From the Play-bill of the Night of Dr. Holmes's
"great round fat tear" 24
(Shaw Theatre Collection, Harvard College Library)
Facsimile of the Conclusion of Ultimus Smith's
Declaration 26
Mrs. Fields 32
From a crayon portrait made by Rowse in 1863
Fields, the Man of Books and Friendships . . 34
Louis Agassiz 48
Hawthorne in 1857 54
From a Letter of Hawthorne's after a Visit to
Charles Street 61
Emerson 86
From the Marble Statue by Daniel Chester French in the
Concord Public Library
A Corner of the Charles Street Library . . 98
From a Note of Emerson's to Mrs. Fields . .100
Facsimile of Autoguaph Inscuiition on a Photo-
GUAPii of Rowse's Crayon Portuait of Lowell
GIVEN TO Fields lOG
James Russell Ixjwell lOG
From the crayon portrait by Uowsc in the Harvard Col-
lege Library
Facsimile of Lowell's " Hilldoc; and Terrier"
Sonnet 121
Henry Wadsworth I^)nc;fellow 124
From a photo^fniph Uiki-n in mi(l<IU' life
From a Note of "Dkau Whittiku" to Mrs. Fields 130
Proposed Dedication of Wiiittii.k's "Amon(; the
Hills" to Mrs. Fields 132
Charles Dickens 130
From a portrait by Francis Alcxandrr. for many yi-urs in
the Fit-Ids houM-, and imw in the Mcottui Mu-scum of Fine
Arts
"The Two CHAiiLEs's." Dickens and Fechter . 140
(Shaw Theatre Colleition, Harvanl College Library)
Reduced Facsimile of Dickens's Dikections, Pre-
served among THE Fields Papkus. for the Brewing
OF Pleasant HEVf:iiAGE8 147
Facsimile Play-bill of "The Frozen Deep," with
Dickens as Actor-Manager 1H8
(Shaw Theatre ('oli«-<ti()n. Harvard College Librarj')
Facsimile Note from Dickens to Fields . . 102
James T. Fields at Fifteen 1J)0
From a drawing by a Fn-nch Painter
Facsimile Note from Hooth to Mrs. Fields . . 201
Booth as Hamlet 202
Jefferson in the Betrothal Scene of "Rip Van
Winkle" 208
A Nast Cartoon of Dickens and FF.rnTER . 210
(Shaw Theatre Collection, Harvard College Librarv)
James E. Murdock and William Warren . .218
Charlotte Cushman : from a Crayon Portrait . 220
(Shaw Theatre Collection, Harvard College Library)
RisTORi AND Fanny Kemble 222
The photograph of Fanny Kemble was taken in Philadel-
phia in 1863
Christine Nilsson as Ophelia 226
Facsimile Letter from William Morris Hunt
TO Fields 231
Facsimile Page from an Early Letter of Bret
Harte's 235
Bret Harte and Mark Twain 242
From early photographs
Facsimile Verses and Letter from Mark Twain
TO Fields 248-9
Charles Sumner 258
From a Letter of Edward Lear's to Fields . , 279
Sarah Orne Jewett 282
The Library in Charles Street 284
Mrs. Fields at the window. Miss Jewett at the right
An Autograph Copy of Mrs. Fields's "Flammantis
Mgenia MuNDi " before ITS Final Revision . . 287
Mrs. Fields on her Manchester Piazza . . . 288
Mistral, Master of "Boufflo Beel" . . . 294
Reduced Facsimile from Letter of Henry James 299
{Most of the photographs reproduced are in the collections of
the Boston Athenceum and the Harvard College Library, to
which grateful acknowledgments are made.)
MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
I
PRELIMINARY
In the years immediately before the death of Mrs.
James T. Fields, on January 5, 191 5, she spoke to me
more than once of her intention to place in my posses-
sion a cabinet of old papers -^journals of her own, let-
ters from a host of correspondents, odds and ends of
manuscript and print — which stood in a dark corner
of a small reception-room near the front door of her
house in Charles Street, Boston. On her death this
intention was found to have been confirmed in writing.
It was also made clear that Mrs. Fields had no desire
that her own life should be made a subject of record —
"unless," she wrote, "for some reason not altogether
connected with myself." Such a reason is abundantly
suggested in her records of the friends she was con-
stantly seeing through the years covered by the journals.
These friends were men and women whose books have
made them the friends of the English-speaking world,
and a better knowledge of them would justify any ampli-
fication of the records of their lives. In this process the
figure of their friend and hostess in Charles Street must
inevitably reveal itself — not as the subject of a biog-
raphy, but as a central animating presence, a focus of
sympathy and understanding, which seemed to make
a single phenomenon out of a long series and wide vari-
ety of friendships and hospitalities.
4 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
The "blue books" — more than fifty in number —
which Mrs. Fields used for the journals have already
yielded many pages of valuable record to her own
books, especially "James T. Fields : Biographical Notes
and Personal Sketches" (1881), and "Authors and
Friends" (1896); also even, here and there, to Mr.
Fields's "Yesterdays with Authors" (1871). Yet she
left unprinted much that is both picturesque and illumi-
nating : so many of the persons mentioned in the jour-
nal were still living or had but recently died when her
books were written. There are, besides, many passages
used in a fragmentary way, which may now with pro-
priety be given complete.
Into these manuscript journals, then, I propose to
dip afresh — not with the purpose of passing in a mis-
cellaneous review all the friends who crossed the thresh-
old of the Charles Street house in a fixed period of
time, but rather in pursuit of what seems a more prom-
ising quest — namely, to consider separate friends and
groups of friends in turn ; to assemble from the journals
passages that have to do with them ; to supplement
these by drawing now and then upon the old cabinet
for a letter from this or that friend to Mr. or Mrs.
Fields, and thus to step back across the years into a
time and scene of refreshing remembrance. Many a
friend, many a friendship, must be left untouched. In
the processes of selection, figures of more than local
significance will receive the chief consideration. In pas-
sages relating to one person, allusions to many others,
sometimes treated separately in other passages, will
PRELIMINARY 5
often be found, for the friendships with one and an-
other were constantly overlapping and interlocking.
Bits of record of no obviously great importance will be
included, not because they or the subjects of them are
taken with undue seriousness, but merely that a van-
ished society, interesting in itself to those who care for
the past and doubly interesting as material for a study
in contrasts with the present, may have again its "day
in court." When Fields was publishing his reminis-
cences of Hawthorne, Lowell wrote to him: "Be sure
and don't leave anything out because it seems trifling,
for it is out of these trifles only that it is possible to
reconstruct character sometimes, if not always"; and
he commended especially the hitting of "the true chan-
nel between the Charybdis of reticence, and the Scylla
of gossip." Under sailing orders of this nature, self-
imposed, I hope to proceed.
"Another added to my cloud of witnesses," -wrote
Mrs. Fields in her journal, on hearing, in 1867, that
Forceythe Willson had died. Nearly fifty years of life
then remained to the diarist, though she continued to
keep her diary with regularity for hardly ten. Before
her own death the cloud of witnesses was infinitely ex-
tended. Yet new friends constantly stood ready to fill,
as best they might, the gaps that were left by the old.
It is not the new who will appear in the following pages,
but those with whom Mrs. Fields herself must now be
numbered.
II
THE HOUSE AND THE HOSTESS
The fact that Henry James, in "The American
Scene," published in 1907, and again in an article which
appeared in the "Atlantic Monthly" and the "Cornhill
Magazine" in July, 1915, has set down in his own ulti-
mate words his memories of Mrs. Fields and her Boston
abode would be the despair of anyone attempting a
similar task — were it not that quotation remains an
unprohibited practice. In "The American Scene" he
evokes from the past "the Charles Street ghosts," and
gives them their local habitation: "Here, behind the
effaced anonymous door" — a more literal-minded
realist might have noted that a vestibule-door contrib-
uted the only efTacement and anonymity — "was the
little ark of the modern deluge, here still the long
drawing-room that looks over the water and towards
the sunset, with a seat for every visiting shade, from
far-away Thackeray down, and relics and tokens so thick
on its walls as to make it positively, in all the town, the
votive temple to memory." In his "Atlantic" and
"Cornhill" article he refers to the house, in a phrase at
which Mrs. Fields would have smiled, as "the waterside
museum of the Fieldses," and to them as "addicted to
every hospitality and every benevolence, addicted to
the cultivation of talk and wit and to the ingenious
multiplication of such ties as could link the upper half
HOUSE AND HOSTESS 7
of the title-page with the lower"; he pays tribute to
*' their vivacity, their curiosity, their mobility, the felic-
ity of their instinct for any manner of gathered relic,
remnant, or tribute"; and in Mrs. Fields herself, sur-
viving her husband for many years, he notes " the per-
sonal beauty of her younger years, long retained and not
even at the end of such a stretch of life quite lost ; the
exquisite native tone and mode of appeal, which an-
ciently we perhaps thought a little 'precious,* but from
which the distinctive and the preservative were in time
to be snatched, a greater extravagance supervening;
the signal sweetness of temper and lightness of tact."
There is one more of Henry James's remarks about
Mrs. Fields that must be quoted, "All her implica-
tions," he says, "were gay, since no one so finely senti-
mental could be noted as so humorous ; just as no femi-
nine humor was perhaps ever so unmistakingly directed,
and no state of amusement, amid quantities of reminis-
cence, perhaps ever so merciful." Mirth and mercy do
not always, like righteousness and peace, kiss each
other. In Mrs. Fields the capacity for incapacitating
laughter was such that I cannot help recalling one occa-
sion, near the end of her life, when an attempt to tell a
certain story — of which I remember nothing but that
it had to do with a horse • — involved her in such merri-
ment that after repeated efforts to reach its "point," she
was forced to abandon the endeavor. What I cannot
recall in a single instance, in the excellent telling of in-
numerable anecdotes, is unkindness, in word or sugges-
tion, toward the persons involved in them. Mr. James
8 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
did well to include this item in his enumeration of Mrs.
Fields's qualities.
Through all his lenses of memory and phrase he
brought so vividly to one's own vision the Mrs. Fields
a younger generation had known that, on reading what
he had written, I wrote to him in England, then nearly
ending its first year in the war, and must have said that
his pages would help me, at some future day, to deal
with these of my own, now at last taking form. Thus,
in part, he replied : —
'July 20/A, 1 91 5
Your appreciation reached me, alas, but through the
most muffling and deadening thickness of our unspeaka-
ble actuality here. It was to try and get out of that a
little that I wrote my paper — in the most difficult and
defeating conditions, which seemed to me to make it,
with my heart so utterly elsewhere, a deplorably make-
believe attempt. Therefore if it had any virtue, there
must still be some in my poor old stump of a pen. Yes,
the pipe of peace is a thing one has, amid our storm and
stress, to listen very hard for when it twitters, from afar,
outside; and when you shall pipe it over your exhibi-
tion of dear Mrs. Fields's relics and documents I shall
respond to your doing so with whatever attention may
then be possible to me. We are not detached here, in
your enviable way — but just exactly so must we there-
fore make some small effort to escape, even into what-
ever fatuity of illusion, to keep our heads above water at
all. That in short is the history of my " Cornhill " scrap.
HOUSE AND HOSTESS 9
The time into which Henry James escaped by "pip-
ing" of Mrs. Fields has now grown far more remote than
the added span of the last seven years, merely as years,
could have made it. Remote enough it seemed to him
jir-ujO^
A Note of Acceptance
when, at the end of his reminiscences of the Fieldses, he
recalled a small "feast" in the Charles Street dining-
room at which Mrs. Julia Ward Howe — it must have
been about 1906 — rose and declaimed, "a little quaver-
ingly, but ever so gallantly, that 'Battle Hymn of the
Republic' which she caused to be chanted half a cen-
tury before and still could accompany with a real
breadth of gesture, her great clap of hands and indica-
tion of the complementary step, on the triumphant
lo iMEMORIKS Ob' A HOSTESS
line, 'Be swift my hands to welcome him, be jubilant
my feet !'"
Now it fell to my lot that night, as perhaps the young-
est of the party, to convoy Mrs. Howe across two wintry
bits of sidewalk into the carriage which bore her to and
from the memorable dinner-party, and to accompany
her on each of the little journeys. Quite as clear in my
memory as her recitation of the "Battle Hymn" was
the note of finality in her voice, quite free from unkind-
ness, as she settled down for the return drive to her
house in Beacon Street, far from a towering figure, and
announced in the darkness: "Annie Fields has shrunk."
The hostess we were leaving and the guest some fifteen
years her senior, and nearing ninety with what seemed
an immortally youthful spirit, appear, when those
words are recalled, as they must have been before either
was touched by the diminishing hand of age; and the
house whose door had just closed upon us — a house
more recently obliterated to make room for a monstrous
garage — came back as the scene of many a gathering
of which the little feast described by Henry James was
but a type.
Early in January of 191 5 this tloor, which through a
period of sixty years had opened upon extraordinary
hospitality, was finally closed. Since 1H66 it had borne
the number I48. Ten years earlier, in 1856, when the
house was first occupied by James T. Fields, afterwards
identified with the publishing firms of Ticknor and
Fields, and Fields, Osgood and Company, it was num-
bered J7, Charles Street. This Boston man of books
HOUSE AND HOSTESS ii
and friendships, who before his death in 1881 was to
become widely known as publisher, editor, lecturer, and
writer, had married, in 1850, Eliza Josephine Willard, a
daughter of Simon Willard, Jr., of the name still honor-
ably associated with the even passage of time. She died
within a few months, and in November of 1854 ^^ mar-
ried her cousin, Annie Adams, not yet twenty years old,
the beautiful daughter of Dr. Zabdiel Boylston Adams.
For those who knew Mrs. Fields toward the end of her
four score and more years, it was far easier to see in her
charming face and presence the exquisite, eager young
woman of the mid-nineteenth century than to detect in
the Charles Street of 191 5, of which she was the last in-
habitant of her own kind, any resemblance to the
delightful street of family dwellings, many of them look-
ing out over the then unfilled " Back Bay," to which she
had come about sixty years before. The Fieldses had
lived here but a few years when, in 1859, Dr. Oliver
Wendell Holmes — with the "Autocrat" a year behind
him and the "Professor" a year ahead — became their
neighbor at 21, subsequently 164, Charles Street. On
the other side of them, nearer Beacon Street, John A.
Andrew, the great war governor of Massachusetts, was
a friend and neighbor. Across the way, for a time, lived
Thomas Bailey Aldrich. In hillside streets near by dwelt
many persons of congenial tastes, whose work and char-
acter contributed greatly to making Boston what it was
through the second half of the last century.
The distinctive flavor of the neighborhood derived
nothing more from any of its households than from that
12 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
of Mr. and Mrs. Fields. Their dining-room and drawing-
room* — that green assembling-place of books, pictures,
music, persons, associations, all to be treasured — were
the natural resort, not only of the whole notable local
company of writers whose publisher was also their true
and valued friend, but, besides, of many of the eminent
visitors to Boston, of the type represented most con-
spicuously by Charles Dickens. After the death of Mr.
ImcKIs there was far more than a tradition carried on
in the Charles Street house. Not merely for what it
had meant, but for all that the gracious personality of
Mrs, FicKls caused it to go on meaning, it continued
through her lifetime — extending beyond that of Miss
Sarah Orne Jewett, for so many years of Mrs. Fields's
widowhood her delightful sister-hostess — the resort of
older and younger friends, whose present thus drew a
constant enrichment from the past.
It was not till 1863, nearly ten years after her mar-
riage, that Mrs. Fields, who had kept a diary during a
visit to Europe in 1859-60 with her husband, and for
other brief periods, applied herself regularly to this
practice, maintained through 1876, and thereafter
renewed but intermittently. She wrote on the cover of
the first slender volume: "No. 1. Journal of Literary
Events and Glimpses of Interesting People." A few
of its earliest pages, revealing its general purpose and
character, may well precede the passages relating, in
accordance with the plan already indicated, to individ-
' ./ Shelf (ij Old Books, by Mrs. Fields (1894), pictures many aspects of the
house and its contents.
HOUSE AND HOSTESS 13
ual friends and groups of friends. In the first pages
of all, on which Mrs. Fields built a few sentences for
her "Biographical Notes," I find: —
July 26, 1863. — What a strange history this literary-
life in America at the present day would make. An
editor and publisher at once, and at this date, stands
at a confluence of tides where all humanity seems to
surge up in little waves; some larger than the rest
(every seventh it may be) dashes up in music to which
the others love to listen ; or some springing to a great
height retire to tell the story of their flight to those who
stay below.
Mr. Longfellow is quietly at Nahant. His translation
of Dante is finished, but will not be completely pub-
lished until the year 1865, that being the 600th anniver-
sary since the death of the great Italian. Dr. Holmes
was never in healthier mood than at present. His ora-
tion delivered before a large audience upon the Fourth
of July this year places him high in the rank of native
orators. It is a little doubtful how soon he will feel like
writing again. He has contributed much during the
last two years to the "Atlantic" magazine. He may
well take a temporary rest.
Mr. Lowell is not well. He is now travelling. Mr.
Hawthorne is in Concord. He has just completed a
volume of English Sketches of which a few have been
printed in the "Atlantic Monthly." He will dedicate
the volume to Franklin Pierce, the Democrat — a most
unpopular thing just now, but friendship of the purest
14 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
stimulates him, and the ruin in prospect for his book
because of this resolve does not move him from his
purpose. Such adherence is indeed noble. Hawthorne
requires all that popularity can give him in a pecuniary-
way for the support of his family.
The "Atlantic Monthly" is at present an interesting
feature of America. Purely literary, it has nevertheless
a subscription list, daily increasing, of 32,000. Of course
the editor's labors are not slight. We have been waiting
for Mr. Emerson to publish his new volume containing
his address upon Henry Thoreau ; but he is careful of
words and finds many to be considered again and again,
until it is almost impossible to extort a manuscript from
his hands. He has written but little, of late.
'July 2S. — George William Curtis has done at least
one great good work. He has by a gentle but con-
tinuously brave pressure transformed the "Harper's
Weekly," which was semi-Secession, into an anti-slavery
and Republican journal. The last issue is covered with
pictures as well as words which tend to ameliorate the
condition of the colored race. Mr. Curtis's own house
at Statcn Island has been threatened by the mob;
therefore his wife and children came last week to New
England. I fear the death of Colonel Shaw, her brother,
commanding the 54th Massachusetts (colored infantry),
will induce them to return home. His death is one of our
severest strokes.
July 31, 1863. — Wc have been in Concord this week,
making a short visit at the Hawthorncs*. He has just
Hnishcd his volume of English Sketches, about to be
HOUSE AND HOSTESS 15
dedicated to Franklin Pierce. It is a beautiful incident
in Hawthorne's life, the determination at all hazards
to dedicate this book to his friend. Mr. P.'s politics
at present shut him away from the faith of patriots, but
Hawthorne has loved him since college days and he will
not relent.^ Mrs. Hawthorne is the stay of the house.
To
FRANKLIN PIERCE,
AS A SLTOnr MEMORIAL OF A COLLBQE FRIEITDSTTir, PROLONGED
THROUGH MANHOOD, AND BETAIOTNO ALL ITS VITALITT
IN OCR AUTUMNAL TEARS,
CMs V^luvxt (8 SnscTlbeU
Br NATHANIEL HAWTHOR?fE.
The Ofending Dedication
The wood-work, the tables and chairs and pedestals,
are all ornamented by her artistic hand or what she has
prompted her children to do. Una is full of exquisite
maidenhood. Julian was away, but his beautiful illu-
minations lay upon the table. The one illustrating a por-
tion of King Arthur's address to Queen Guinevere
(Tennyson) was remarkably fine.
All this takes one back into a past sufficiently re-
mote. The 1859-60 diary of travel achieves the more
remarkable spectacle of Mrs. Fields in conversation
with Leigh Hunt less than two months before he died,
^ About two months later, Mrs. Fields wrote in her diary: "Emerson says
Hawthorne's book is 'pellucid but not deep.' He has cut out the dedication
and letter, as others have done."
i6 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
and reporting the very words of Shelley to this friend
of his. They may be found in the "Biographical
Notes" published by Mrs. Fields after her husband's
death. Shelley says, "Hunt, we write /o:r-songs; why
shouldn't we write hate-songs ?" And Hunt, recalling
the remark, adds, "He said he meant to some day,
poor fellow." Perhaps one of his subjects would have
been the second Mrs. Godwin, for, according to Hunt,
he disliked her particularly, believing her untrue, and
used to say that when he was obliged to dine with her
"he would lean back in his chair and languish into
hate." Then, wrote Mrs. Fields, "he said no one could
describe Shelley. He always was to him as if he came
from the planet Mercury, bearing a winged wand
tipped with flame." It is now an even century since
the death of Shelley, and here we find one of the older
generation of our own time talking, as it were, with
him at but a single remove. Almost the reader is
persuaded to ask of Mrs. Fields herself, "Ah, did you
once sec Shelley plain ?"
Thus from the records of bygone years many re-
membered figures might be summoned ; but the evo-
cations already made will suflice to indicate the point of
vantage at which Mrs. Fields stood as a diarist, and to
set the scene for the display of separate friendships
Ill
DR. HOLMES, THE FRIEND AND NEIGHBORS
If any familiar face should appear at the front of the
procession that constantly crossed the threshold of
148, Charles Street, it should be that of Dr. Oliver
Wendell Holmes, for many years a near neighbor, and
to the end of his life a devoted visitor and friend. Here,
then, is an unpublished letter written from his summer
retreat while Fields was still actively associated with
the "Old Corner Bookstore" of Ticknor, Reed, and
Fields, and in the year before his marriage with Annie
Adams : —
Pitts FIELD, Sept^ 6th, 1853
My dear Mr. Fields : —
Thank you for the four volumes, and the authors of
three of them through you. You did not remember
that I patronized you to the extent of Aleck before I
came up ; never mind, I can shove it round among the
young farmeresses and perhaps help to work off the
eleventh thousand of the most illustrious of all the
Smiths.
I shall write to Hillard soon. I have been reading
his book half the time today and with very great pleas-
ure. I am delighted with the plan ot it — practical in-
^ The greater part of this chapter appeared in the Yale Review for April,
1918.
i8 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
formation such as the traveller that is to be or that has
been wishes for, with poetical description enough to keep
the imagination alive, and sound American thought
to give it manly substance. It is anything but -x flash
book, but I have not the slightest doubt that it will
have a permanent and very high place in travelling
literature. Many things have pleased me exceedingly,
— when I have read a little more I shall try to tell him
what pleases me most^ — as I suppose like most authors
he likes as many points for his critical self-triangula-
tion as will come unasked for.
Hawthorne's book has been not devoured, but bolted
by my children. I have not yet had a chance at it, but
I don't doubt I shall read it with as much gusto as they,
when my turn comes. When you write tc him, thank
him if you please for me, for I suppose he will hardly
expect any formal acknowledgment.
I bloomed out into a large smile of calm delight on
opening the delicate little "Epistle Dedicatory" where-
in your name is embalmed. I cannot remember that
our friend has tried that pace before; he wrote some
pleasing lines I remember to Longfellow on the ship in
which he was to sail when he went to Europe some
years — a good many — ago.
Don't be too proud ! Wait until you get a prose dedi-
cation from a poet, — if you have not got one already, —
and then consider yourself immortal.
Yours most truly,
O. W. Holmes
AN EARLY PHOTOGRAPH OF DR. HOLMES
DR. HOLMES, FRIEND AND NEIGHBOR 19
This letter contains several provocations to curiosity.
"Aleck, . . . the most illustrious of all the Smiths,"
was obviously Alexander Smith, the Scottish poet of
enormous but strictly contemporaneous vogue, in whom
the English reviewers of the time detected a kinship to
Tennyson, Keats, Shelley, and Shakespeare. George S.
Hillard's new book was "Six Months in Italy," and
Hawthorne's, "not devoured, but bolted" by the
Holmes children, was "Tanglewood Tales." The "deli-
cate little 'Epistle Dedicatory'" has been found elu-
sive.
From this early letter of Dr. Holmes a seven-league
step may be taken to a passage in a diary Mrs. Fields
was writing in i860, — the year following the removal
of the Holmes household from Montgomery Place to
Charles Street, — before her long unbroken series of
journals began. The occasion described was one of
those frequent breakfasts in the Fields dining-room,
which bespoke, in the term of a later poet, the "wide
unhaste" of the period. Of the guests, N. P. Willis
was then at the top of his distinction as a New York
editor ; George T. Davis, a lawyer of Greenfield, Mass-
achusetts, afterwards of Portland, Maine, a classmate
of Dr. Holmes, was reputed one of the most charming
table-companions and wits of his day : the tributes to
his memory at a meeting of the Massachusetts Histor-
ical Society after his death in 1877 stir one's envy of his
contemporaries ; George Washington Greene of Rhode
Island was perhaps equally known as the friend of
Longfellow and as the grandson and biographer of
20 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
General Nathanael Greene ; Whipple was, of course,
Edwin P. Whipple, essayist and lecturer; the household
of three was completed by Mrs. Fields's sister, Miss
Lizzie Adams.
Thursday y September 2i, i860. — Equinoctial clear-
ing after a stormy night and morning. Willis came to
breakfast, and Holmes and George T. Davis, G. W.
Greene, Whipple, and our little household of three.
Holmes talked better than all, as usual. Willis played
the part of appreciative listener. G. T. Davis told won-
derful stories, and Mr. Whipple talked more than
usual. Holmes described the line of beauty which is
made by any two persons who talk together congenially
thus --'"^^---', whereas, when an adverse element comes
in, it proceeds thus /\ ; and by and by one which has
a frightful retrograde movement, thus / . Then blank
despair settles down upon the original talker. He said
people should dovetail together like properly built
mahogany furniture. Much of all this congeniality had
to do with the physical, he said. "Now there is big
Dr. ; he and I do very well together; I have just
two intellectual heart-beats to his one." Willis said he
thought there should be an essay written upon the
necessity that literary men should live on a more con-
centrated diet than is their custom. "Impossible," said
the Professor, " there is something behind the man which
drives him on to his fate; he goes as the steam-engine
goes and one might as well say to the engine going at
the rate of sixty miles, 'you had better stop now,' and
DR. HOLMES, FRIEND AND NEIGHBOR 21
so make it stop, as to say it to a man driven on by a vital
preordained energy for work." Each man has a phil-
osophical coat fitted to his shoulders, and he did not
expect to find it fitting anybody else.
At another breakfast, in 1861, we find, besides the
favorite humorist of the day, Dr. Holmes's son and
namesake, then a young ofiicer in the Union army, now
Justice of the Supreme Court of the United States.
Sunday y December 8, 1861. — Yesterday morning
** Artemus Ward," Mr. Browne, breakfasted with us, also
Dr. Holmes and the lieutenant, his son. We had a
merry time because Jamie was in grand humor and rep-
resented people and incidents in the most incomparable
manner. "Why," said Dr. Holmes to him afterward,
"you must excuse me that I did not talk, but the truth
is there is nothing I enjoy so much as your anecdotes,
and whenever I get a chance I can't help listening to
them." The Professor complimented Artemus upon his
great success and told him the pleasure he had received.
Artemus twinkled all over, but said little after the Pro-
fessor arrived. He was evidently immensely possessed
by him. The young lieutenant has mostly recovered
from his wound and speaks as if duty would recall him
soon to camp. He will go when the time comes, but
home evidently never looked half so pleasant before.
Poor fellows ! Heaven send us peace before long 1
The finely bound copy of Dr. Holmes's Fourth of
July Oration at the Boston City Celebration of 1863,
22 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
to which the following passage refers, is one of the rari-
ties sought by American book-collectors. It was a prac-
tice of Dr. Holmes at this time to have his public
speeches set up in large, legible type for his own reading
at their delivery. One of these, an address to the alumni
of Harvard on July 16, 1863, with the inscription,
"Oliver Wendell Holmes to his friend James T. Fields.
One of six copies printed," is found among the Charles
Street papers, and contributes, like the passage that
follows, to the sense of pleasant intimacy between the
neighboring houses.
Jugust 3, 1863. — Dr. Holmes dropped in last night
about his oration which the City Council have had
printed and superbly bound. He has addressed it to
the "Common Council" instead of the "City Council,"
and he is much disturbed. J. T. F. told him it made but
small consequence, and he went off comforted. One of
the members of the Council told Mr. F. it was amusing
to see "the Professor" while this address was passing
through the press. He was so afraid something wouKl
be wrong that he would C(jme in to see about it half a
dozen times a day, until it seemed as if he considered
this small oration of more consequence than the affairs
of the state. Yet laugh as they may about these little
peculiarities of "our Professor," he is a most wonderful
man.
In explanation of the ensuing bit, it need only be
said that in October of 1863 Senorita Isabella Cubas
/^l...,^^ ^^.^t^c^^-Z^ /^i^^^M.^
Brotkeks of the Association of the AluMxNi
It is your misfortune and mine that you must accept
my scr\-iccs as your presiding officer in the place of your
honored President. I need hardly say hov/ unwillingly it is
that for the second time I find myself in this trying position ;
called upon to fill as I best may the place of one whose
presence and bearing, whose courtesy, whose dignity, whose
scholarship, whose standing among the distinguished children
of the University, lit him alike to guide your councils and
to grace your festivals. The name of AVinthrop has been so
long associated with the State and with the College, that to
sit under liis mild empire is like resting beneath one of these
wide-branching elms, the breadth oi whoso shade is only a
measure of the hold its roots have talceu in the soil.
In the midst of civil strife we, the children of this our
common mother, have come together in peace. And surely
there never was a time when we more needed a brief respite
in some chosen place of refuge, some unviolated sanctuary,
from the cares and anxieties of our daily existence, than at
this very hour. Om- life has grown haggard with excitement.
The rattle of dimns, the march of regiments, the gallop of
squadrons, the roar of artillery, seem to have been contin-
Reduced facsimile of first page of Dr. Holmes's 1863 Address
to the Alumni of Harvard
24 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
was appearing at the Boston Theatre in "The Wizard
Skiff, or the Massacre of Scio," and other pantomimes.
"The Wizard Skiff," according to the "Advertiser,"
was given on the fourteenth. On the sixteenth, a char-
acteristic announcement read: "At X past 8 Senorita
Cubas will dance La Madrilena." The tear of Dr.
Holmes at the spectacle may be remembered with the
"poetry and religion" anecdote of Emerson, Margaret
Fuller, and Fanny Ellsler.
October i6, 1863. — Mr. F. went in two evenings since
to find Professor Holmes. His wife said he was out. " I
don't know where he is gone, I am sure, Mr. Fields,"
she said in her eager way, "but he said he had finished
his work and asked if he might go, and I told him he
might, though he would not tell where he was going."
Yesterday the "where" transpired. "By the way,"
said the Professor, "have you seen that little poem by
Mrs. Waterston upon the death of Colonel Shaw, 'To-
gether' .'' It made me cry. However, I don't know how
much that means, for I went to see the 'beautiful
Cubas' in a pantomime the other night, and the first
thing I knew do^^n came a great round fat tear and
went splosh on the ground. Wasn't I provoked!"
The next fragment is neither a letter nor a passage
from the diary, but a bit of excellent fooling, in Dr.
Holmes's handwriting, on a sheet of note paper. The
meteorological records of 1864 would probably show
that there were heavy rains in the course of the year.
BOSTON THEATRE
f^m STAR UHOIMD!
SEMORlTi ISIABEI.1.4
iwTioricii«« HR TO THB priLio iir
ffiC2^ Another Character !
SREiTJItflSTE.
WIW SCENES, MUSIC AND STARTLING MECHAN-
ICAL EFFECTS!
WOLFO MrW. H. EDGAR
Wednesday Evening, October 14, 1863,
Will be pn-formed t^ L«geiulftr> frtmi, in 3 »oto. utitled th*:
WIZil SKIFF!
Or— The Massacre of Scio.
ALEXA 8ENORITA ISABELLA CUBA8
W H EDOAR
. . .W. H. Wlimll*7 I Micb»el « . H T)mDTon
Court BwfUMe W. U. Hublm | Acutuiui Y O. 8»Tige
Voo WatUlsdorf W Scmllu I Fritr B»nj
A«BMt) N. T. P»Teiiport I P«liiw Miss BUnch* Grmy
OuinU Greek Sulon tod Pirtt«.
ACT nSST-OUOK FtRATBS- RKlfOBZVOCB.
ACT ■■OOWD-THa WOABS aSJTF.
ACtTBimD-TmRSLZnc kxplosioh or thk wtzahd-s OAV»-A»p«ir-
•OM ofttis Wlaard's SklfT, under rull B«U-R«scae of Alex* ft Conjt«ntlii«
*Qt of Victory ,
Of HuilcftlBAleotlons. L«»der, F. Suck.
FROM THE PLAY-BILL OF THE NIGHT OF
DR. HOLMES'S "GREAT ROUND FAT TEAR"
DR. HOLMES, FRIEND AND NEIGHBOR 25
From Dr. Holmes's interest in the tracing of Dr. John-
son's footsteps an even century before his own, it is
easy to imagine his fancy playing about the rainfall of
the century ahead. I cannot find that this jeii d' esprit,
with its entirely characteristic flavor of the "Breakfast
Table," was ever printed by its author.
Letter Jrom the last man left by the Deluge of the year 1 964
to the last woman left by the same
My dear Sole Survivoress : —
Love is natural to the human breast. The passion
has seized me, and you, fortunately, cannot doubt as
to its object.
Adored one, fairest, and indeed only individual of
your sex, can you, could you doubt that if the world
still possessed its full complement of inhabitants,
823,060,413 according to the most recent estimate, I
should hesitate in selecting you from the 4ii,53o,2o6>^
females in existence previous to the late accident ? Be-
lieve it not 1 Trust not the deceivers who — but I for-
get the late melancholy occurrence for the moment.
It is still damp in our — I beg your pardon — in my
neighborhood. I hope you are careful of your precious
health — so much depends upon it ! The dodo is ex-
tinct — what if Man — but pardon me. Let me recom-
mend long india-rubber boots — they will excite no
remark, for reasons too obvious to mention.
May I hope for a favorable answer to my suit by the
bearer of this message, the carrier-goose, who was with
26 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
me (luring the rainy season in the top of the gigantic
pine ?
If any more favored suitor — What am I saying? If
Facsimile of the Conclusion of Vliitnus Snmh's Declaration
DR. HOLMES, FRIEND AND NEIGHBOR 27
any recollection of the past is to come between me and
happiness, break it gently to me, for my nerves have
been a good deal tried by the loss of the human species
(with the exception of ourselves) and there is something
painful in the thought of shedding tears in a world so
thoroughly saturated with liquid.
I am
(by the force of circumstances)
Your Only lover and admirer
Ultimus Smith
0. W. H. Fixit.
A few brief items of May of 1864 bring back a time of
sadness for all the friends of Nathaniel Hawthorne.
May II, 1864. — J. T. F. went to see Dr. Holmes
about Hawthorne's health. The latter came to town
looking very very ill. O. W. H. thinks the shark's tooth
is upon him, but would not have this known. Walked
and talked with him; then carried him to "Metcalf's
and treated him to simple medicine as we treat each
other to ice cream."
O. W. H. picked up a New York pamphlet full of
sneers against Boston "Mutual Admiration Society."
"These whipper-snappers of New York will do well to
take care," he says; "the noble race of men now so
famous here is passing down the valley — then who will
take their places ! I am ashamed to know the names of
these blackguards. There is , a stick of sugar-
candy and , who is not even a gum-drop,
and plenty like them."
28 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
Sunday, May I4. — Terrible days of war and
change. . . .
May 19. — Hawthorne is dead.
Less than a year later came the record of another
death — unique in that every survivor of the war-time
seems to have remembered the very moment and cir-
cumstances of learning the overwhelming fact.
.Ipril 15, 1865. — Last night when I shut this book I
wondered a little what event or person would come next,
powerful enough to compel me to write a few words;
and before I was dressed this morning the news of the
assassination of the President became our only thought.
The Presiilent, Seward, and his son !
Mrs. Andrew came in before nine o'clock to ask if
we thought it would be expected of her to receive "the
Club" on Monday. We decided "No," immediately,
which chimed with her desire.
The city is weighed down by sadness. But Dr.
Holmes expresses his philosophy for the consolation of
all. "It will unite the North," he says. " It is more than
likely that Lincoln was not the best man for the work
of re-construction," etc. His faith keeps him from the
shadows which surround many.
But it is a black day for us all. J. Wilkes Booth is in
custody. Poor Edwin is in Boston.
.-Ipril 22. — False report. Up to this date J. Wilkes
Booth has not been taken. A reward of nearly ^200,000
is set upon his head, but we believe him to have fled
DR. HOLMES, FRIEND AND NEIGHBOR 29
into Maryland or farther south, with some marauding
party.
Henry Howard Brownell, the author of "War Lyrics,"
appears in the following extract, with Dr. Holmes,
whose high opinion of this singer of naval battle was
set forth in print of no uncertain tone. Of Forceythe
Willson, a poet, not yet thirty years old, of whom great
things were expected, Mrs. Fields wrote later in the
same volume of the journal : "He affects me like a wild
Tennyson. ... He is an indigenous growth of our
middle states. He was a pupil of Horace Mann, and
appreciated him."
April 29, 1865. — Club dinner for J. T. F. Mr.
Brownell was present, author of "The Bay Fight," as
Dr. Holmes's guest. Dr. H. said privately to us, "Well,
't ain't much for some folks to do what I 'm doing for
this man, but it 's a good deal for me. I don't like that
kind of thing, you know. I find myself unawares in
something the position of a lion-hunter, which is un-
pleasant ! 11 " He has lately discovered that Forceythe
Willson, the author of a noble poem called the " Color
Sergeant" ["The Old Sergeant"], has been living two
years in Cambridge. He wrote to him and told him how
much he liked his poem and said he would like to make
his acquaintance. "I will be at home," the young poet
replied to the elder, "at any time you may appoint to
call upon me." This was a little strange to O. W. H.,
who rather expected, as the elder who was extending
so MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
the right hand, to be called upon, I suppose, although
he did not say so. He found a fortress of a man, "shy
as Hawthorne," and "one who had not learned that
the eagle's wings should sometimes be kept down, as we
people who live in the world must," said the Professor
to me afterward. " In State" by F. W. is a great poem.
More than a year later is found this characteristic
glimpse of Dr. Holmes in the elation of finishing one of
his books.
iredtJCscJay^ Scptejiibtr 12, 1866. — After an hour J.
went in to see Dr. Holmes. This was important. He had
promised a week ago to hear him read his new romance,
and he did not wish to show anything but the lively
interest he really feels. . . .
Jamie returned in two hours perfectly enchanted.
The novel exceeded his hopes. No diminishing of power
is to be seen ; on the contrary it seems the perfect fruit
of a life. It is to be called "The Guardian Angel."
Four parts are already completed and large books of
notes stand ready for use and reference. Mrs. Holmes
came in to tell Mr. Fields she wished Wendell would not
publish anything more. He would only call down news-
paper criticism, and where was the use. "Well, Amelia,
I have written something now which the critics won't
complain of. You see it's better than anything I have
ever done." "Oh, that 's what you always say, Wendell,
but I wish you'd let it alone!" "But don't you see,
Amelia, I shall make money by it, and that won't come
DR. HOLMES, FRIEND AND NEIGHBOR 31
amiss." "No indeed, Mr. Fields, not in these times with
our family, you know." "But there 's one thing," said
the little Professor, suddenly looking up to Mr. Fields ;
"if anything should happen to me before I get the story
done, you would n't come down upon the widder for
the money, would you now?" Then they had a grand
laugh all round. He is very nervous indeed about his
work and read it with great reluctance, yet desired to
do so. He had read it to no one as yet until Mr. Fields
should hear it.
Wendell, his son, had just returned from England,
bringing a young English Captain of Artillery home
with him for the night, the hotels being crowded. The
captain's luggage was in the entry. The Professor drew
J. aside to show him how the straps of the luggage
were arranged in order to slip in the address-card.
" D' ye see that — good, ain't it ? I 've made a drawing
of that and am going to have some made like it."
Near the end of 1 866, Mrs. Fields, after a few words
of realization that something lies beyond the age of
thirty, pictures "the Autocrat" at her own breakfast-
table, with General John Meredith Read, afterwards
minister to Greece, and already, before that age of
thirty which the diarist was just completing, an impor-
tant figure in the military and political life of New York.
A few sentences from the following passage are found
in Mrs. Fields's article on Dr. Holmes, which appeared
first in the "Century Magazine," and then in "Authors
and Friends."
32 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
It comes over me to put down here and now the fact
that this year for the first time others perceived, as
well as myself, that I have passed the freshness and
lustre of youth — but I do not feel the change as I
once thought I must — life is even sweeter than ever
and richer though I can still remember the time when
thirty years seemed the desirable limit of life — now it
opens before me full of uncompleted labor, full of riches
and plans — the wealth of love, the plans of eternity.
Friday tnoniiug. — Professor Holmes and Adjutant
General Read of New York (a young man despite his
title) breakfasted here at eight o'clock. They were both
here punctually at quarter past eight, which was early
for the season, especially as the General was late out, at
a ball, last night. He was only too glad of the chance,
however, to meet Dr. Holmes, and would have made a
far greater effort to accomplish it. The talk at one time
turned upon Dickens. Dr. Holmes said he thought
him a greater genius than Thackeray and was never
satisfied with admiring his wondrous powers of observa-
tion and fertility of reproduction ; his queer knack at
making scenes, too, was noticeable, but especially the
power of beginning from the smallest externals and
describing a man to the life though he might get no
farther than the shirt-button, for he always failed in
profound analysis. Hawthorne, beginning from within,
was his contrast and counterpart. But the two qualities
which Dickens possesses and which the world seems to
take small account of, but which mark his peculiar
greatness, are the minuteness of his observations and
MRS. FIELDS
crayon portrait made by Rowse
DR. HOLMES, FRIEND AND NEIGHBOR 33
his endless variety. Thackeray had sharp corners in
him, something which led you to see he could turn
round short upon you some day, although sadness was
an impressive element in his character — perhaps a
sadness belonging to genius. Hawthorne's sadness was
a part of his genius — tenderness and sadness.
On Monday, February 25, 1867, Mrs. Fields made
note of the Saturday Club dinner of two days before, at
which the guests were George William Curtis, "Petro-
leum V. Nasby," and Dr. Hayes of Arctic fame, of
whom Mrs. Fields had written a few days before: "He
wears a corrugated face, and his slender spirited figure
shows him the man for such resolves and expeditions.
We were carried away like the hearers of an Arabian
tale with his vivid pictures of Arctic life." But appar-
ently he was not the chief talker at the Saturday Club
meeting, for Mrs. Fields wrote of it : " Dr. Holmes was
in great mood for talk, but Lowell was critical and in-
terrupted him frequently. 'Now, James, let me talk
and don't interrupt me,' he once said, a little ruffled
by the continual strictures on his conversation." But
by the time that Longfellow's sixtieth birthday came
round on the following Wednesday, Dr. Holmes was
ready for it with the verses, "In gentle bosoms tried and
true," recorded in Longfellow's diary, and for another
encounter with Lowell, who also celebrated the day
with a poem, beginning "I need not praise the sweet-
ness of his song." Mrs. Fields's diary records her hus-
band's account of the evening : —
34 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
February 28, 1867. — Thursday morning. Jamie
had a most brilliant evening at Longfellow's. A note
came in from O. \V. H. towards night, saying he was full
of business and full of his story, but he must go to L.'s.
Lowell's poem in the morning had helped to stir him. J.
reached his door punctually at eight. There stood the
little wonder with hat and coat on and door ajar, his
wife beside him. "I would n't let him go with anybody
else," she said. "Mr. Fields, he ought not to go out
tonight ; hear him, how he wheezes with the asthma.
Now, Wendell, vchcn will you get home?" "Oh," said
he, "I don't know. I put myself into Mr. Fields's
hands." "Well, Mr. Fields, how early can you get him
home?" "About twelve," was the answer. "Now
that 's pretty well," said the Doctor. "Amelia, go in
and shut the door. Mr. Fields will take care of me."
So between fun and anxiety they chatted away until
they were fairly into the street and in the car. "I 'vc
been doing too much lately between my lectures and my
story, and the fine dinners I have been to, and I ought
not to go out tonight. Why, it 's one of the greatest
compliments one man ever paid another, my going out
to I^ongfellow's tonight. By the way, Mr. Fields, do you
appreciate the position you hold in our time? There
never was anything like it. Why, I was nothing but a
roaring kangaroo when you took me in hand, and I
thought it was the right thing to stand up on my hind
legs, but you combed me down and put me in proper
shape. Now I want you to promise me one thing. We 're
all growing old, I 'm near sixty myself; by and by the
FIELDS, THE MAN OF BOOKS AND FRIENDSHIPS
DR. HOLMES, FRIEND AND NEIGHBOR 35
brain will begin to soften. Now you must tell me when
the egg begins to look addled. People don't know of
themselves."
He had been to two large dinners lately, one at G. W.
Wales's, which he said was the finest dinner he had ever
seen, the most perfect in all its appointments, decorated
with the largest profusion of flowers, in as perfect taste
as he had ever seen. "Why, even the chair you sat in
was so delicately padded as to give pleasure to that
v/eak spot in the back which we all inherit from the fall
of Adam." The other was at Mrs. Charles Dorr's, where
there v/ere sixteen at table and the room "for heat was
like the black hole at Calcutta," but the company was
very brilliant. Mr. and Mrs. Winthrop, Mrs. Parkman,
Dr. Hayes, etc. He sat next Mrs. ; says she is a
thorough-bred woman of society, the daughter of a
politician, the wife, first of a millionaire and now of a
man of society. "I like such a woman now and then;
she never makes a mistake." Mrs. was thoroughly
canvassed at the table, "picked clean as any duck for
the spit and then roasted over a slow fire," as O. W. H.
afterward remarked to Mrs. Parkman, who is a very
just woman and who weighed her well in the balances.
When they arrived at L.'s, my basket of flowers stood
surrounded by other gifts, and Longfellow himself sat
crowned with all the natural loveliness of his rare nature.
The day must have been a happy one for him. . . .
O. W. H. had three perfect verses of a little poem in
his hand which he read, and then Lowell talked, and
they had great merriment and delight together.
36 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
The two following passages from the diary for 1868
seem to indicate that Dr. Holmes made a double use of
his poem, "Bill and Joe," written in this year, included
in his " Poems of the Class of '29," and according to the
entry of July 17, read at the Harvard Phi Beta Kappa
dinner of 1868 : —
'January 16, 1868. — We had just finished dinner
when Professor Holmes came in with his poem, one of
the annual he contributes to the class-supper of the
"Boys of '29." He read it through to us with feeling,
his voice growing tremulous and husky at times. It was
pleasant to see how he enjoyed our pleasure in it. The
talk turned naturally after a little upon the question of
Chief Justice, when he took occasion to run over in his
mind the character and qualifications of some of our
chief barristers. "As for Bigelow ^ (who has just gone
out of office and it is his successor over whom they are
struggling), as for Bigelow, it is astonishing to see how
every bit of that man's talent has been brought into use;
all he has is made the most of. Why, he 's like some
cooks, give 'cm a horse and they will use every part of
him except the shoes."
Friday^ July 17, 1868. — Last evening Dr. Holmes
came in fresh from the Phi Beta dinner at Cambridge.-
' George Tyler Bigelow, of the \ larvarj Cl.iss of 1 829.
* Harvard festivals were frequently noted. After the great day on which
Lowell gave his Comnifmoration Ode, Mrs. Fields wrote (July 22, 1 865) :
"What an evcr-mcmoraMe day, the one at Harvard ! The prayer of Phillips
Brooks, the ode of lx)wcll, the address of Dr. Putnam and the Governor, and
the heartfelt verses of Holmes, and the lovely music and the hymns. But
DR. HOLMES, FRIEND AND NEIGHBOR 37
He said, "I can't stop and I only came to read you my
verses I read at the dinner, they made such a queer im-
pression. I did n't mean to go, but James Lowell was to
preside and sent me word that I really must be there, so
I just wrote these off, and here they are — I don't know
that I should have brought them in to read to you, but
Hoar declares they are the best I have ever done." At
length, in the exquisite orange of sunset, he read those
delightful verses, full, full of feeling, "Bill and Joe."
We did not wonder the Phi Beta boys liked them. I
shall be surprised if every boy, especially those who find
the almond blossoms in the hair, as W. says, does not
like them, and if they do noi win for him a more uni-
versal reputation than he has yet won. . . .
I was impressed last night with the nervous energy of
O. W. H. His leg by a slight quiver kept time to the
reading of his verses, and his talk fell before and after
like swift rain. He does not go away from town but
sways between Boston and Cambridge all these perfect
summer days ; receiving yesterday, the hottest day of
this or many years. Motley at dinner, and going per-
petually, and writing verses and letters not a few. His
activity is wonderful ; think of writing letters these
warm delicious evenings by gaslight in a small front
study on the street ! It hurts him less than his wife,
partly because the intellectual vivacity and excitement
Lowell's Ode ! ! How it overtops the whole of what is preserved on paper
beside! Charles G. Loring presided. 'Awkwardly enough done,' said
O. W. H.; 'It is a delicate thing to introduce a poet, he should be delivered
to the table as a falconer delivers the falcon into the air, but Mr. Loring
puts you down hard on the table — ca-chunk. ' "
38 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
keeps him up, partly because he is physically fitted to
bear almost everything but cold. How fortunate for the
world that while he lives he should continue his work so
faithfully. He will have no successor, at least for many
a long year, after we have all gone to sleep under our
green counterpanes and Nature has tucked us up v.ell
in yearly violets.
Earlier in the year Dr. Holmes and Mrs. Stowe met
in Charles Street.
Wednesday mornings January 29, 1868. — Last night
Professor Holmes, Mrs. Stowe, her daughter Georgie,
and the Howellses, took tea here. The Professor came
early and was in good talking trim — presently in came
Mrs. Stowe, and they fell shortly into talk upon Home-
opathy and Allopathy. He grew very warm, declared
that cases cited of cures proved nothing, and we were all
"incompetent" to judge ! We coukl iK^t but be amused
at his heat, for we were more or less believers in Home-
opathy against his one argument for Allopathy. In vain
Mrs. Stowe and I tried to turn and stem the fiery tide :
Georgie or Mrs. Howells would be sure to sweep us back
into it again. However, there were many brilliant things
said, and sweet and good and interesting things too.
The Professor told us one curious fact, that chemists had
in vain analyzed the poison of rattlesnakes and could
not discover the elements of destruction it undoubtedly
possesses. Also that, when Indians poison their arrows
with it, they hang up the liver of a white wolf ami make
DR. HOLIN^ES, FRIEND AND NEIGHBOR 39
one snake after another bite it until the liver is entirely
impregnated; they then leave it to dry until disinte-
grated, when they moisten and apply round the necks of
the arrows — not on the point. He had a long quiet
chat with Mrs. Stowe before the evening ended. They
compared their early Calvinistic education and the
effect produced upon their characters by such training.
Tuesday J April 13, 1869. — Dr. Holmes and his wife
and Mr. Whittier dined here. The talk was free, totally
free from all feeling of constraint, as it could not have
been had another person been present. Whittier says he
is afraid of strangers, and Dr. Holmes is never more de-
lightful than under just such auspices. Dr. Holmes
asked Whittier's undisguised opinion of Longfellow's
"New England Tragedies" — "honest opinion now,"
said he. "Well, I liked them," said Whittier, half
reluctantly — evidently he had found much that was
beautiful and in keeping with the spirit of the times of
which Longfellow wrote, and their passionless character
did not trouble him as it had O. W. H. Presently, he
added that he was surprised to find how he had pre-
served almost literally the old text of the old books he
had lent Longfellow twelve years ago, and had meas-
ured it off into verse. "Ah," said O. W. H., "you
have said the severest thing after all — 'measured off ' ;
that 's just what he has done. It is one of the easiest,
the very commonest tricks of the rhymster to be able to
do this. I am surprised to see the ease with which I
can do it myself." They spoke then of "Evangeline,"
which both agreed in awarding unqualified praise.
40 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
"Only," said Whitticr, "I always wondered there was
no terrible outburst of indignation over the outrage
done to that poor colony. The tide of the story runs
as smoothly as if nothing had occurred. I long thought
of working up that story myself, but I am glad I did
not, only I can't understand its being so calm." They
talked on religious questions of course, the Professor
holding that sin being finite, and of such a nature that
we could both outgrow it and root it up, Whittier
still returning to the ground that sin was a "very real
thing."
It is impossible to represent the clearness and swift-
ness of Dr. Holmes's talk. The purity of heart and
strength of endeavor evident in the two poets makes
their atmosphere a very elevating one and they evi-
dently naturally rejoiced in each other's society.
Mrs. Holmes had not been out to dine before this
winter. Jamie sent us a pot of strawberries growing,
which delighted everybody.
Before the following passage was written, in 1S71, Dr.
Holmes had moved from Charles Street to Beacon
Street ; Mr. Fields, in impaired health, had retired from
active business as a publisher and was devoting himself
chiefly to writing and lecturing; and Mrs. Fields, al-
ready interested in the establishment of Coffee Houses
for the p)oor in the North End and elsewhere, had begun
the notable work in public charities to which her ener-
gies were so largely given for the remaining forty-four
years of her life. In the Cooperative Workrooms, still
DR. HOLMES, FRIEND AND NEIGHBOR 41
rendering their beneficent services, and in the larger
organization of the Associated Charities, embodying a
principle now widely adopted throughout the land, the
labors of this generous spirit, never content to give all
it had to the gracious life within its own four walls, have
borne enduring fruits.
1 87 1. — Thursday afternoon last (June 22) went to
Cambridge for a few visits, and coming home stopped
at Dr. Holmes's, at his new house on Beacon St. Found
them both at home, sitting lonely in the oriel window
looking out upon a glorious sunset. They were think-
ing of the children who have flown out of their nest.
Dr. Holmes was very friendly and sweet. He talked
most affectionately with J., told him he no longer felt
a spur to write since he had gone out of business ; he
needed just the little touch of praise and encouragement
he used to administer to make him do it ; now he did not
think he should ever write any more worth mentioning.
He had been in to see the Coffee House and entertained
us much by saying he met President Eliot near the door
one day just as he was going in, but he was ashamed of
doing so until they had parted company. There was
something so childlike in this confession that we all
laughed heartily over it. However he got in at last, and
"tears as big as onions stood in my eyes when I saw
what had been accomplished." "You must be a very
happy woman," he went on to say. I told him of the
new one in Eliot Street about to be opened this coming
week.
42 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
At the end of the summer of 187 1, when Mr. and Mrs.
iMclds were beginning to learn the charms of the North
Shore town of Manchester, where they established the
"Gambrel Cottage" on "Thunderbolt Hill" which
gave a summer synonym to the hospitality of Charles
Street, they journeyed one day to Nahant for a mid-
day dinner with Longfellow. Here Mrs. Fields's sister,
Louisa, Mrs. James H. Beal, was a neighbor of the poet.
Another neighbor was the late George Abbot James,
and in Longfellow's diary for September 4, 1871, is the
entry: "Call on Dr. Holmes at Mr. James's. Sumner
still there. We discuss the new poets." Mrs. Fields
reports a continuation of the talk with the same friends.
ITeduesdayy September 6, 1871. — Dined with Mr.
Longfellow at Nahant. The day was warm with a soft
south wind blowing, and as we crossed the beach white
waves were curling up the sands. . . . The dear poet
saw us coming from afar and walked to his little gate to
meet us with such a sweet cordial welcome that it was
worth going many a mile to have that alone. The three
little ladies, his daughters, and Ernest's wife, were
within, but they came warmly forward to give us greet-
ing; also Mr. Sam. Longfellow was of the party. A few
moments' chat in the little parlor, when Longfellow saw
Holmes coming in the distance (he had an opera-glass,
being short-sighted, and was sitting on the piazza with
J.). "Hullo!" said he, "here comes Holmes, and all
dressed up too, with flowers in his button-hole." Sure
enough, here was the Professor to have dinner with us
DR. HOLMES, FRIEND AND NEIGHBOR 43
also. He was full of talk as ever and looking remark-
ably well. Longfellow asked with much interest about
Balaustion and Joaquin Miller, neither of which he had
read. Holmes criticized as if unbearable and beyond the
pale of decency Browning's cutting of words, "Flower o*
the pine," and such characteristic passages. Longfellow
spoke of a volume of poems he had received of late from
England in which "saw" was made to rhyme with
"more." Holmes said Keats often did that. "Not ex-
actly, I think," said L., "'dawn' and 'forlorn,' per-
haps." "Well," said H., "when I was in college" (I
think he said college, certainly while at Cambridge)
"and my first volume was about to appear, Mrs. Fol-
som saw the sheets and fortunately at the very last
moment for correction discovered I had made 'for-
lorn' rhyme with 'gone,' and out of her own head and
without having time to consult with me she substituted
'sad and wan.'" ^ The Professor went on to say that he
must confess to a tender feeling of regret for his "so
forlorn" to this very day, but he supposed every writer
of poems must have his keen regrets for the numerous
verses he could recall where he had wrestled with the
English language and had lost something of his thought
in his struggle with the necessities of art. We shortly
after went to dinner, where the talk still continued to
turn on art and artists, chiefly musical, the divorcement
of music and thought ; a thinker or man of intellect
in listening to music comes to a comprehension of it,
' This anecdote of the revision of The Last Leaf, written in 1 831, is told
a little differently in the annotations of Holmes's Complete Works.
44 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
Holmes said, mediately, but a musician feels it directly
through some gift of which the thinker knows nothing.
Longfellow always recalls with intense delight hearing
Gounod sing his own music in Rome — his voice was
hardly to be mentioned among the fine voices of the
world, indeed it was small, but his rendering was exquis-
ite. Canvassing T. B. Read's poems and speaking of
"Sheridan's Ride," which has been so highly praised,
"Yes," said Holmes, "but there are very poor lines in
it, but how often, to use Scripture phrase, there is a fly
in the ointment." The talk went bowling off to Pere
Hyacinthe. "He was very pleasant," said Holmes, "it
was most agreeable to meet him, but you could only
go a short distance. His desire was to be a good Catho-
lic, and ours is of course quite different. It was like
speaking through a knot-hole after all."
The dumb waiter bounced up. "We cannot call that
a dumb waiter," said L., "but I had an odd dream the
other night. I thought Greene (G.W.) came bouncing up
on the waiter in that manner and stepped off in a most
dignified fashion with a crushed white hat on his head.
He said he had just been to drive with a Spanish lady !"
Sumner (Charles) came up to the piazza. He had
dined elsewhere and came over as soon as possible for a
little talk. Holmes talked on, although we all said,
"Mr. Sumner — here is Mr. Sumner," without per-
ceiving that the noble Senator was sitting just outside
the cottage window waiting for us to rise, and began to
converse about him. Longfellow grew nervous and rose
to speak with Sumner — still Holmes did not perceive,
DR. HOLMES, FRIEND AND NEIGHBOR 45
and went on until Jamie relieved us from a tendency
to convulsions by voting that we should join the Sen-
ator. Then Sumner related the substance of an amusing
letter of Cicero's he had just been reading in which
Cicero gives an account to his friend of a visit he had
just received from the Emperor Julius Caesar. He had
invited Julius to pass a few days with him, but he came
quite unexpectedly with a thousand men ! Cicero, see-
ing them from afar, debated with another friend what
he should do with them, but at length managed to en-
camp them. To feed them was a less easy matter. The
emperor took everything quite easily, however, and
was very pleasant, "but," adds Cicero, "he is not the
man to whom I should say a second time, 'if you are
passing this way, give me a call.'"
Again, in 1873, Longfellow, Holmes, and Sumner are
found together at the dinner-table with Mrs. Fidds,
this time in Charles Street. When she made use of her
diary at this point, for her article on Dr. Holmes which
appeared first in the "Century Magazine" (1895), it
was with many omissions. The passage is now given
almost entire. It should be said that the Misses Towne,
mentioned at the beginning of it, were friends and sum-
mer neighbors at Manchester.
Saturday J October 11, 1873. — Helen and Alice Towne
have come to pass Sunday with us. Charles Sumner,
Longfellow, Greene, Dr. Holmes came to dine. Mr.
Sumner seemed less strong than of late and I fancied he
46 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
suffered somewhat while at table during the evening,
but he told me he was working at his desk or reading
during fourteen consecutive hours not infrequently at
present, as he was in the habit of doing when uninter-
rupted by friendly \'isits. He said he was very fond of
the passive exercise of reading; the active exercise of
composition was of course agreeable in certain moods,
but reading was a never-ending delight. He spoke of
Lord Brougham, and Mrs. Norton and her two beauti-
ful sisters. Both he and Mr. Longfellow recalled them
in their youthful loveliness, but Mr. Sumner said when
he was in England the last time he saw the Duchess of
Somerset, who was a most ix>etic looking creature in her
youth and (I believe) the youngest of the three sisters,
so changed he should never have guessed who it might
be. She was grown a huge red-faced woman. (Long-
fellow laughed, referring to her second marriage and
said, "Yes, she had turned a Somerset!") Dr. Holmes
sparkled and coruscated as I have seldom heard him
before. We are more than ever convinced that no one
since Sydney Smith was ever so brilliant, so witty,
spontaneous, naif, and unfailing as Dr. Holmes. He
talked much about his class in College: "There never
was such x-igor in any class before, it seems to me —
almost ever}' member turns out sooner or later distin-
guished for something. We have had every grade of
moral status from a criminal to a Chief Justice, and we
never let any one of them drop. We keep hold of their
hands year after year and lift up the weak and failing
ones till they are at last redeemed. .\h, there was one
DR. HOLMES, FRIEND AND NEIGHBOR 47
exception — years ago we voted to cast a man out who
had been a defaulter or who had committed some of-
fense of that nature. The poor fellow sank down, and
before the next year, when we repented of this decision,
he had gone too far down and presently died. But we
have kept all the rest. Every fourth man in our class is
a poet. Sam. Smith belongs to our class, who wrote ' My
Country, 't is of Thee.' Sam. Smith will live when Long-
fellow, Whittier, and all the rest of us have gone into
oblivion — and yet what is there in those verses to
make them live ? Do you remember the line 'Like that
above'.'' I asked Sam. what 'that' referred to — he
said 'that rapture'!! — (The expression of the rapid
talker's face of contempt as he said this was one of the
most amusing possible.) — Even the odds and ends of
our class have turned out something. . . . Longfellow,
I wish I could make you talk about yourself." — " But I
never do," said L. quietly. " I know you never do, but
you confessed to me once." — "No, I don't think I ever
did," said L. laughing.
Greene was for the most part utterly speechless. He
attended with great assiduity to his dinner, which was a
good one, and Longfellow was watchful and kind enough
to send him little choice things to eat which he thought
he would enjoy.
Holmes was abstemious and never ceased talking —
"Most men write too much. I would rather risk my
future fame upon one lyric than upon ten volumes. But
I have said Boston is the hub of the universe. I will rest
upon that."
48 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
All this report is singularly dry compared with the wit
and humor which radiated about the table. We laughed
till the tears ran down our cheeks. Longfellow was in-
tensely amused. I have not seen him laugh so much for
many a long day. We ladies sat at the table long after
coffee and cigars in order to hear the talk. . . .
Sumner said he had been much displeased by a re-
mark Professor Henry Hunt made to him a few days
ago. He said Mr. Agassiz was an itnpediment in the path
of science. What did such men as Hunt and John Fiske
mean by underrating a man who has given such books
to the world as Agassiz has done, not to speak of his
untiring efforts in the other avenues of influence! "It
means just this," said Holmes: ".Agassiz will not listen
to the Darwinian theory ; his whole efl^ort is on the other
side. Now Agassiz is no longer young, and I was reading
the other day in a book on the Sandwich Islands of
an old Fcjce man who had been carried away among
strangers, but who prayed he might be carried home,
that his brains might be beaten out in peace by his son
acairding to the custom of those lands. It flashed over
mc then that our sons beat out our brains in the same
way. They do not walk in our ruts of thoughts or begin
exactly where we leave ofl^, but they have a new stand-
point of their own. \x. present the Darwinian theory
can be nothing but an hypothesis; the important links
of proof are missing and cannot be supplied ; but in the
myriad ages there may be new developments."
I thought the young ladies looked a little tired sit-
ting, so about nine o'clock we left the table — still the
LOUIS AGASSIZ
DR. HOLMES, FRIEND AND NEIGHBOR 49
talk went on for about four hours when they broke up.
With two letters from Dr. Hohnes this mmbling chron-
icle of his friendship with Mr. and Mrs. Fields must end.
The first of the communications is a mere fragment of
his everyday humor :
Beverly- Farms-by-the-Depot
July \Wi, 1878
Dear Mr. Fields : —
The Corner sends me a book directed to me here,
but on opening the outside wrapper I read "James T.
Fields, Esq., Jamaica Plain, Boston, Mass." The book,
which is sealed up (or stuck up, like many authors),
measures 7x5, nearly, and is presumably idiotic, like
most books which are sent us without being ordered.
Perhaps you have received a similar package which
on opening you found directed to O. W. Holmes, Esq.,
Peak of TenerifFe, Boston. If so, when the weather
grows cool again and we can make up our minds to face
the title page of the dreaded volume, we will make an
exchange.
Always truly yours,
O. W. Holmes
The second letter, written ten years after Dr. Holmes,
in moving from Charles to Beacon Street, had made the
last of his "justifiable domicides," strikes a more serious
note, revealing that quality of true sympathy so closely
joined in abundant natures with true humor. Mr.
Fields had died in April of 1881, and Mrs. Fields had
so MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
applied herself at once to the preparation of her volume,
"James T. Fields: Biographical Notes and Personal
Sketches," drawing freely upon the diaries from which
many of the foregoing pages, then passed over, are now
taken. The performance of this loving labor must have
done much towards the first filling of a life so grievously
emptied. Already the intimate and beloved com-
panionship of Miss Jewett had come into it.
294 Beacon St., November 16, 1881
My dear Mrs. Fields: —
I feel sure there will be but one voice with regard to
your beautiful memorial volume. If I had any mis-
givings that you might find the delicate task too diffi-
cult — that you might be discouraged between the
wish to draw a life-like picture and the fear of saying
more than the public had a right to, these misgivings
have all vanished, and I am sure your finished task
leaves nothing to be regretted. .As he was in life,
he is in your loving but not overwrought story. I do
not see how a life so full of wholesome activity and
genuine human feeling could have been better pictured
than it is in your pages. Long before I had finished
reading your memoir in the proofs I had learned to
trust you entirely as to the whole management of the
work on which you had entered. .AH I feared was
that your feelings might be overtasked, and that the
dread of coming before the public when your whole
heart was in the pages opened to its calm judgment
might be more than you could bear.
DR. HOLMES, FRIEND AND NEIGHBOR 51
And now, my dear Mrs. Fields, there must come a
period of depression, almost of collapse, after the labor
and the solace of this tender, tearful, yet blessed occu-
pation. I think you need the kind thoughts and sooth-
ing words — if words have any virtue in them — of
those who love you more than while each day had its
busy hours in which the memory of so much that was
delightful to recall kept the ever-returning pangs of
grief a Uttle while in abeyance. It must be so. But
before long, quietly, almost imperceptibly, there will, I
hope and trust, return to you the quieting sense of all
that you have done and all that you have been for that
life which for so many happy years you were privileged
to share. How few women have so perfectly fulfilled, not
only every duty, but every ideal that a husband could
think of as going to make a happy home ! This must
be and will be an ever-growing source of consolation.
Forgive me for saying what many others must have
said to you, but none more sincerely than myself.
I do not know how to express to you the feeling
with which Mrs. Holmes looks upon you in your be-
reavement. I should do it injustice if I attempted to
give it expression, for she lives so largely in her sym-
pathies and her endeavors to help others that she could
not but sorrow deeply with you in your affliction and
wish there were any word of corusolation she could add
to the love she sends you.
Believe me, dear Mrs. Fields,
Affectionately yours,
O. W. Holmes
52 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
For thirteen years longer, till his death in 1894 ^^ the
age of eighty-five, Dr. Holmes was a prolific writer of
notes, more often than letters, to Mrs. Fields. The sym-
pathy of tried and ripened friendship runs through them
all. In the Charles Street house the younger friends
might see from time to time this oldest friend of their
hostess. When he came no more, it was well for those of
a later day that his memory was so securely held in the
retrospect and the record of Mrs. Fields.
IV
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE VISITORS
The volumes in which Mrs. Fields brought to light
many passages from her journals stand as red and black
buoys marking the channel through which the navigator
of these pages must steer his course if he is to avoid the
rocks and shoals of the previously published. In her
books it was but natural that she should deal most freely
with those august figures in American letters who so
towered above their contemporaries as to attach the
longer and more portentous adjective "Augustan" to
the circle formed by the joining of their hands. If it has
become the fashion to look back upon the American
Augustans and the English Victorians with similarly
mingled feelings, in which tolerance stands in a growing
proportion to the admiration and respect which form-
erly ruled supreme, it is the unaltered fact that the fig-
ures of the American group dominated both the local
and the national scene of letters in their day, and that
their historic significance is undiminished. But it is
rather as human beings than as literary figures that
they reveal themselves in the sympathetic records of
Mrs. Fields — human beings who typified and embod-
ied a state of thought and society so remote in its char-
acteristic qualities from the prevailing conditions of this
later day as to be approaching steadily that "equal date
54 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
with Andes and with Ararat" of which one of them
wrote in words quite unmistakably his own.
Perhaps no single member of the group is represented
in Mrs. Fields's journals so often as Dr. Holmes by
illuminating pages which she herself left unprinted. For
this reason, and because Concord and Cambridge visi-
tors to Charles Street were in fact so much a "group,"
it has seemed wise to assemble in this place passages
that relate to one after another of the "Augustan"
friends in turn. Sometimes they appear as separate
subjects of record, sometimes in company with their
fellows. That majestic figure, Nathaniel Hawthorne,
whose death in 1864 made the earliest gap in the circle
of figures most memorable, shall be first to step forth,
like one of his own personages of the Province House,
from the shadows in which imlccd he lived.
The long chapter on Hawthorne in "Yesterdays with
Authors," and that small volume n.bout him which Mrs,
Fields contributed in 1899 to the" Beacon Biographies,"
constitute the more finished portraits of the man as his
host and hostess in Charles Street saw him. His letters
to Fields are quoted at length in "Yesterdays with
Authors," and contribute an autobiographic element of
much importance to any study of Hawthorne. But
there are illuminating passages that were left unpub-
lished. In one of them, for example, Hawthorne, in a
letter of September 21, i860, after lamenting thestateof
his daughter's health, exclaimed : " I am continually re-
HAWTHORNE IX 1857
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE SS
minded, nowadays, of a response which I once heard
a drunken sailor make to a pious gentleman who asked
him how he felt: 'Pretty d d miserable, thank
God !' It very well expresses my thorough discomfort
and forced acquiescence." In another, of July 14,
1 86 1, after the calamity that befell Longfellow in the
tragic death of his wife through burning, Hawthorne
wrote to Fields : —
"How does Longfellow bear this terrible misfor-
tune ? How are his own injuries ? Do write and tell
me all about him. I cannot at all reconcile this calamity
to my sense of fitness. One would think that there
ought to have been no deep sorrow in the life of a man
like him; and now comes this blackest of shadows,
which no sunshine hereafter can ever penetrate! I
shall be afraid ever to meet him again ; he cannot again
be the man that I have known."
In the words, "I shall be afraid ever to meet him
again," the very accent of Hawthorne is clearly heard.
Still another manuscript letter, preserved in the Charles
Street cabinet, should now be printed to round out the
story of Hawthorne's reluctant omission from his
"Atlantic" article — "Chiefly about War Matters" —
that personal description of Abraham Lincoln which
Fields was unwilling to publish in his magazine in
1862, but afterwards included in his "Yesterdays with
Authors." ^ In that place, however, he used but a few
words from the following letter.
1 See Yesterdays with Authors, p. 98, and The Atlantic Monthly and Its
Makers, p. 46.
56 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
Concord, May 23, '62
Dear Fields : —
I have looked over the article under the influence of
a cigar and through the medium (but don't whisper it)
of a glass of arrack and water ; and though I think you
are wrong, I am going to comply with your request. I
am the most good-natured man, and the most amenable
to good advice (or bad advice either, for that matter)
that you ever knew — so have it your own way. The
whole description of the interview with Uncle Abe and
his personal appearance must be omitted, since I do
not find it possible to alter them, and in so doing, I
really think you omit the only part of the article really
worth publishing. Upon my honor, it seemed to me to
have a historical value — but let it go. I have altered
and transferred one of the notes so as to indicate to the
unfortunate public that it here loses something very
nice. You must mark the omission with dashes, so —
X X X X X X X.
I have likewise modified the other passage you al-
lude to; and I cannot now conceive of any objection
to it.
What a terrible thing it is to try to get off a little bit
of truth into this miserable humbug of a world! If I
had sent you the article as I first conceived it, I should
not so much have wondered.
I want you to send me a proof sheet of the article in
its present state before making any alterations; for if
ever I collect these sketches into a volume, I shall insert
it in all its original beauty.
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 57
With the best regards to Mrs. Fields,
Truly yours,
Nath^ Hawthorne
P. S. I shall probably come to Boston next week, to
the Saturday Club.
If these unpublished letters add something to the
more formal portraits of Hawthorne drawn by Fields
and his wife, still other lines may be added by means of
the unconscious, fragmentary sketches on which the
portraits were based. In Mrs. Fields's diaries the fol-
lowing glimpses of Hawthorne in the final months of
his life are found.
December 4, 1863. — Hawthorne and Mr. and Mrs.
Alden passed the night with us; he came to town to
attend the funeral of Mrs. Franklin Pierce. He seemed
ill and more nervous than usual. He brought the first
part of a story which he says he shall never finish.^
J. T. F. says it is very fine, yet sad. Hav/thorne says in
it, "pleasure is only pain greatly exaggerated," which
is queer to say the least, if not untrue. I think it must
be diflferently stated from this. He was as courteous
and as grand as ever, and as true. He does not lose
that all-saddening smile, either.
Sunday, December 6, 1863. — Mr. Hawthorne re-
turned to us. He had found General Pierce overwhelmed
with sadness at the death of his wife and greatly needing
his companionship, therefore he accompanied him the
1 The Dolliver Romance.
58 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
whole distance to Concord, N. H. He said he could not
generally look at such things, but he was obliged to look
at the body of Mrs. Pierce. It was like a carven image
laid in its richly embossed enclosure and there was a
remote expression about it as if it had nothing to do
with things present. Harriet Prescott was there. He had
some talk with her and liked her. He was more deeply
impressed than ever with the exquisite courtesy of his
friend. Even at the grave, while overwhelmed with
grief, Pierce drew up the collar of Hawthorne's coat to
keep him from the cold.*
We went to walk in the morning antl left Mr. Haw-
thorne to read in the library. He found a book called
"Dealings with the Dead," which he liked — indeed he
said he likeil no house to stay in better than this. He
thought the old edition of Boccaccio which belonged to
lx:igh Hunt a poor translation. He has already written
the first chapter of a new romance, but he thought so
little of the work himself as to make it impossible for
him to continue until Mr. Fields had read it and ex-
pressed his sincere admiration for the work. This has
given him better heart to go on with it. He talked of the
magazine with Mr. V.; t(jld him he thought it was the
most ably edited magazine in the world, and was bound
to be a success, with this exception : he said, "I fear its
politics — beware 1 What will you do when in a year or
two the politics of the country change ?" "I will cjuietly
wait tor that time to come," saiti J. T. 1"\ ; "then I can
tell you."
'Fields lircw upon this paragraph for one in Yesterdays with Julhors, p. 112.
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 59
As the sunset deepened Mr. Hawthorne talked of his
early life. His grandfather bought a township in Maine
and at the early age of eleven years he accompanied his
mother and sister down there to live upon the land.
From that moment the happiest period of his life began
and lasted until he was thirteen, when he was sent to
school in Salem. While in Maine he lived like a bird of
the air, so perfect was the freedom he enjoyed. During
the moonlight nights of winter he would skate until mid-
night alone upon the icy face of Sebago Lake, with all
its ineffable beauty stretched before him and the deep
shadows of the hills on either hand. When he was weary
he could take refuge sometimes in a log cabin (there
were several in this region), where half a tree would be
burning on the broad hearth and he could sit by that
and see the stars up through the chimney. All the long
summer days he roamed at will, gun in hand, through
the woods, and there he learned a nearness to Nature
and a love for free life which has never left him and made
all other existence in a measure insupportable. His
suffering began with that Salem school and his knowl-
edge of his relatives who were all distasteful to him. He
said, "How sad middle life looks to people of erratic
temperaments. Everything is beautiful in youth — all
things are allowed to it." We gave him "Pet Marjorie"
to read in the evening — a little story by John
Brown. He thought it so beautiful that he read it care-
fully twice until every word was grasped by his powerful
memory. . . .
Talking of England, Hawthorne said she was not a
6o mi:morii:s uv a ii()sri:ss
powerful empire. The extent over which her dominions
extended led her to fancy herself powerful. She is much
like a squash vine which rins over a whole garden, but
once cut at the root and it is gone at once.
We talked and laughed about Boswell, whom he
thinks one of the most remarkable men who ever lived,
and J. T. F. recalled that story of Johnson who, upon
being told of a man who had committed some mis-
demeanor and was upon the verge of committing sui-
cide in consequence, said, "Why does not the man go
somewhere where he is not known, instead of to the
devil where he is known?"
Hawthorne was in the same class at college with Long-
fellow, whom he says he could not appreciate at that
time. He was always finely dressed antl was a tremen-
dous student. Hawthorne was careless in dress and no
student, but always reading desultorily right and left.
Now they are deeply appreciative of each othcr.^
Hawthorne says he wants the North to beat now;
't is the only way to save the country from destruction.
He has been strangely inert and remote upon the sub-
ject of the war; partly from his deep hatred of every-
thing sad. He seemed to feel as if he could not live and
face it.
He was intensely witty, but his wit is of so ethereal a
texture that the fine essence has vanished and I can re-
member nothing now of his witty things !
• Only a month after making this entry, Mrs. Fields wrote in her journal :
"A note came from I^ingfcilow saying he hail received a sad note from Haw-
thorne. 'I wish wc couKi have a little dinner for him,' he says, 'of two sad
authors and two jolly publishers — nobody else.'"
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 6i
It would be a pity to truncate the following passage
by confining the record of Fields's day in Concord to his
glimpse of Hawthorne, already recorded, with emenda-
tions, in the " Biographical Notes.**
Saturday J January 9, 1864. — J. T. F. passed yester-
day in Concord. He went first to see Hawthorne, who
was sitting alone gazing into the fire, his grey dressing-
From a letter oj Hawthorne'' s after a visit to Charles Street
gown, which became him like a Roman toga, wrapped
around his figure. He said he had done nothing for
three weeks. Yet we feel his romance must be maturing
in his mind. General Barlow and Mrs. Howe had sent
word they were coming to call, so Mrs. Hav/thorne had
gone out to walk (been thrown out on picket-duty, Mrs.
Stowe said) and had left word at home that Mr. Haw-
thorne was ill and could see no one. After his visit
there, full of afi^ectionate kindness, J. T. F. proceeded
to dinner with the Emersons. Here too the reception
was most hearty, but he fancied there were no servants
62 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
to speak of at either house. Mrs. E. looked deadly pale,
but her wit coruscated marvellously ; even Mr. Emer-
son grew silent to listen. She said a committee of three,
of which she was one, had been formed to pronounce
upon certain essays (unpublished) of Mr. Emerson,
which they thought should be printed now. She thought
some of them finer than any of his published essays. He
laughed a great deal at the fun she poked at the earlier
efforts.
From there J. T. F. proceeded to see the Thoreaus.
The mother and sister live well, but lonely it should
seem, there without Henry. They produced 32 volumes
of journal and a few letters. The idea was to print the
letters. We hope it may be done. Their house was like a
conservatory, it was so filled with plants in beautiful
condition. Henry liked to have the doors thrown open
that he might look at these during his illness. He
was an excellent son, and even when living in his retire-
ment at Walden Pond, would come home every day. He
supported himself too from a very early age.
Here follows a passage also used by Fields in "Yester-
days with Authors," but in a rendering so moderated
that the original entry in the journal is quite another
thing.
Monday^ March 28. — Mr. Hawthorne came down to
take this as his first station on his journey for health.
He shocked us by his invalid appearance. He has
become quite deaf, too. His limbs are shrunken but
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE Gt,
his great eyes still burn with their lambent fire. He
said, "Why does Nature treat us so like children! I
think we could bear it if we knew our fate. At least I
think it would not make much difference to me now
what became of me." He talked with something of his
old wit at times; said, "Why has the good old custom
of coming together to get drunk gone out ? Think of the
delight of drinking in pleasant company and then lying
down to sleep a deep strong sleep." Poor man ! He
sleeps very little. We heard him walking in his room
during a long portion of the night, heavily moving,
moving as if indeed waiting, watching for his fate.
At breakfast he gave us a most singular account of an
interview with Mr. Alcott. He said: "Alcott was one
of the most excellent of men. He could never quarrel
with anyone." But the other day he came to make
Mr. H. a call, to ask him if there was any difficulty or
misunderstanding between the two families. Mr. Haw-
thorne said no, that would be impossible; "but I pro-
ceeded," he continued, "to tell him it was not possible
to live upon amicable terms with Mrs. Alcott. . . .
The old man acknowledged the truth of all that I said
(indeed who should know it better), but I comforted
him by saying in time of illness or necessity I did not
doubt we should be the best of helpers to each other. I
clothed all this in velvet phrases, that it might not seem
too hard for him to bear, but he took it all like a saint."
April, 1864. — When Mr. Hawthorne returned after
watching at the death-bed of Mr. Ticknor, his mind was
in a healthier condition, we thought, than when he
64 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
left, but the experience had been a terrible one. I can
never forget the look of pallid exhaustion he wore the
night he returned to us. He said he had scarcely eaten
or slept since he left. " Mr. Childs watched me so closely
after poor Ticknor died, as if I had lost my protector
and friend, and so I had ! But he stuck by as if he were
afraid to leave me alone. He stayed past the dinner
hour, and when I began to wonder if he never ate him-
self, he departed and sent another man to watch me till
he should return!" Nevertheless he liked Mr. Childs
and spoke repeatedly of his unwearying kindness. "I
never saw anything like it," he said; yet when he was
abstractedly wondering where his slippers were, I over-
heard him say to himself, "Oh ! I remember, that cursed
Childs watched me so I forgot everything."
He spoke of the coKlness of somebody and said,
"Well, I think he would have felt something if he had
been there !" He said he did not think death would be
so terrible if it were not for the undertakers. It was
dreadful to think of being handled by those men.
He was often wholly overcome by the ludicrous view
of something presented to him in the midst of his grief.
There was a black servant sleeping in the room that
last night, whose name was Peter. Once he snored
loudly, when the dying man raised himself with an ap-
preciation of fun still living in him and said, "Well
done, Peter!"
In every account of the last week of Hawthorne's
life, the shock he received through the illness and death
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 6s
of his friend and traveling companion, Ticknor, in
Philadelphia, is an item of sombre moment. The two
men had left Boston together late in March — Haw-
thorne, sick and broken, writing but once, in a tremulous
hand, to his wife during the ill-starred journey; Ticknor,
giving himself unstintingly to the restoration of Haw-
thorne's health, and stricken unto death before a fort-
night was gone. The circumstances are suggested in the
entry that has just been quoted from Mrs. Fields's
journal. They stand still more clearly revealed in the
last letter written by Hawthorne to Fields, who refers
to it in "Yesterdays with Authors," and adds that the
news of Ticknor's death reached Boston on the very
day after this letter was written, all too evidently with
a feeble hold upon the pen.
Philadelphia, Continental Hotel
Saturday mornifjg
Dear Fields : —
I am sorry to say that our friend Ticknor is suffering
under a severe billious attack since yesterday morning.
He had previously seemed uncomfortable, but not to an
alarming degree. He sent for a physician during the
night, and fell into the hands of an allopathist, who, of
course, belabored with pills and powders of various
kinds, and then proceeded to cup, and poultice, and blis-
ter, according to the ancient rule of that tribe of sav-
ages. The consequence is that poor Ticknor is already
very much reduced, while the disorder flourishes as lux-
uriantly as if that were the doctor's sole object. He calls
(yd MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
it a billions colic (or bilious, I know not which) and says
it is one of the severest cases he ever knew. 1 think him
a man of skill and intelligence, in his way, and doubt
not that he will do everything that his views of scientific
medicine will permit.
Since I began writing the above, Mr. Bennett of Bos-
ton tells me the Doctor, after this morning's visit, re-
quested the proprietor of the Continental to telegraph
to Boston the state of the case. I am glad of it, because
it relieves me of the responsibility of either disclosing
bad intelligence or withholding it. I will only add that
Ticknor, under the influence of a blister and some pow-
ders, seems more comfortable than at any time since his
attack, and that Mr. Bennett (who is an apothecary, and
therefore conversant with these accursed matters) says
that he is in a gofxi state. But I can see that it will be
not a very few days that will set him upon his legs again.
As regards nursing, he shall have the best that can be
obtained ; and my own room is next to his, so that I can
step in at any moment ; but that will be of almost as
much service as if a hippopotamus were to do him the
same kindness. Nevertheless, I have blistered, and pow-
dered, and pilled him and made my observation on
medical science and the sad and comic aspects of human
misery.
Excuse this illegible scrawl, for I am writing almost
in the dark. Remember me to Mrs. Fields. As regards
myself, I almost forgot to say that I am perfectly well.
If you could find time to write Mrs. Hawthorne and
tell her so, it would be doing me a great favor, for I
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 67
doubt whether I can find an opportunity just now to^do
it myself. You would be surprised to see how stalwart
I have become in this little time.
Your friend,
N. H.
Barely more than a month later, Hawthorne, travel-
ing with another friend, Franklin Pierce, died in New
Hampshire. Through the years that followed, the
friendship of the Fieldses with his widow and children
afforded many occasions for brief affectionate record in
the chronicles of Charles Street.^
The two entries that follow touch, respectively, upon
glimpses of Hawthorne's immediate family at Concord,
in the summer of 1865, and of his surviving sister in the
summer of 1866.
Sunday J July 9, 1865. — Passed Friday in Concord.
Called at the Emersons, but were disappointed to find
them all in town, Jamie particularly, who wished to tell
him that his new essay on Character is not suited to the
magazine. Ordinary readers would not understand him
and would consider it blasphemous. He thinks it would
do more good if delivered simply to his own disciples
first, in a volume of new essays uniform with the others.
Dined with Sophia Hawthorne and the children, the
first real visit since that glorious presence has departed.
^ In Rose Hawthorne Lathrop's Memories of Hawthorne the relation
between the two households is indicated in a sentence containing the nick-
names of Mr. and Mrs. Fields: "My father also tasted the piquant flavors
of merriment and luxury in this exquisite domicile of Heart's-Ease and
Mrs. Meadows."
68 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
What an altered household ! She feels very lonely and is
like a reed. I fear the children find small restraint from
her. Poor child ! How tired she is ! Will God spare her
further trial, I wonder, and take her to his rest ^ . . .
Went to call on Sophia Thoreau.' . . . Wc s;iw a letter
from Froude, the historian, to H. T., as warmly appre-
ciative as it was possible for a letter to be; also "long
good histories," as his sister said, from his admirer
Cholmondely. His journal is in thirty-two volumes and
when J. T. F. spoke of wishing for an editor to condense
these, she said there was no hurry and she thought the
man would come. We spoke of Sanborn. She said, " He
knows a great deal, but I never associate him with my
brother."
She is a woman borne duwn with ill health. She
seemed to possess, as we saw her, something of the self-
sustaining power of her brother, the same repose and
confidence in her fate, as being always good. Dear S. 1 1,
says she has this when she thinks of her brother, but
often loses it when the surface of her life becomes irri-
tated and she is disabled for work. Her aged mother,
learning we were there, got up and dressed herself and
came down, to her daughter's great surprise. She has
an immense care in that old lady evidently.
Ju/y 24, 1866. — We left just before eleven for Ames-
bury, to see Mr. Whittier, driving over to Beverly in
an open wagon. It was one of the perfect days. As
Keats said once, the sky sat "upon our senses like a
sapphire crown." We turned away after a time from the
' Thorca.i's y(jjni;cr sister.
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 69
high road into a wood path, picking our way somewhat
slowly to avoid the overhanging bushes and the rainy
pools left in the ruts. We soon found ourselves near a
place called Mt. Serat where we knew Miss Hawthorne
lived, the only surviving sister of Nathaniel, and Mr.
Fields determined at once to call upon her. To my sur-
prise, in spite of the fine weather and her woodland life
habitually, she was at home, and came down immedi-
ately as if she were sincerely glad to see us. She is a
small woman, with small fine features, round full face,
fresh-looking in spite of years, brilliant eyes, nervous
brow, which twists as she speaks, and very nervous
fingers. In one respect she differed from her brother —
she was exquisitely neat (nor do I mean to convey the
idea by this that he was unneat, but he always gave you
a sense of disregarded trifles about his person and we fre-
quently recall his reply to me when I offered to brush his
coat one morning, "No, no, I never brush my coat, it
wears it out 1"), and gave you a sense of being particu-
lar in little things. I seemed to see in her another dif-
ference — a deterioration because of too great solitude
— pov/ers rusted — a decaying beauty — while with Haw-
thorne soUtude fed his genius, solitude and the pressure
of necessity. Utter solitude lames the native power of a
woman even more than that of a man, for her natural
growth is through her sympathies. She is a woman of no
common mould, however. Lucy Larcom calls her a
hamadryad, and says she belongs in the woods and
should be seen there. I wish to see her again upon her
own ground. She asked us almost immediately if we
70 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
would not come with her to the woods, but our time
was too short. From thence we held our way, and soon
came by train to Newburyport and Amesbury. Whittier
was at home, ready with an enthusiastic welcome.
To these memorials of Hawthorne must be added
yet another, copied from a pencilled sheet preserved by
Mrs. Fields in an envelope endorsed in her handwriting,
" The original of a precious and extraordinary letter
written by Mrs. Nathaniel Hawthorne while her husband
lay dead." Printed now, I believe for the first time,
nearly sixty years after it was written, it rings with a de-
votion and exaltation which time is pt)werless to touch:
I wish to speak to you, Annie.
A person of a more uniform majesty never wore
mortal form."
In the most retired privacy it was the same as in
the presence of men.
The sacred veil of his eycliels he scarcely lifted to
himself — such an unviolatcd sanctuary as was his
nature, I, his inmost wife, never conceived nor knew.
So absolute a modesty was not before joined to so
lofty a self-respect.
But what must have been that self-respect that he
never in the smallest particular dishonored !
A conscience more void of offense never bore witness
to GOD within.
It was the innocence of a baby and the grand com-
prehension of a sage.
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 71
To me — himself — even to me who was himself in
unity — he was to the last the holy of holies behind
the cherubim.
So unerring a judgment that a word from him would
settle with me a chaos of doubts and questions that
seemed perplexing to ordinary apprehension.
So equal a justice that I often wondered if he were
human in this — for this seemed to partake of omnis-
cience both of love and insight.
An impartiality of regard that solved all men and
subjects in one alembick.
Truth and right alone he deigned to regard. Far
below him was every other consideration.
A tenderness so infinite — so embracing — that
GOD'S alone could surpass it. It folded the loathsome
leper in as soft a caress as the child of his home affec-
tions — was not that divine !
Was it not Christianity in one action 1 What a be-
quest to his children — what a new revelation of Christ
to the world was that ! And for him — whom the sight
and touch of unseemliness and uncleanness caused to
shudder as an Eolian string shudders in the tempest.
Annie 1 to the last action in this house he was as
lofty, as majestic, as imperial and as gentle — as in
the strength of his prime, as on the day he rose upon
my eye and soul a King among men by divine right !
When he awoke that early dawn and found himself
unawares standing among the "Shining Ones" do you
think they did not suppose he had been always with
them — one of themselves ? Oh, blessed be GOD for
72 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
so soft a translation — as an infant wakes on its
mother's breast so he woke on the bosom of GOD and
can never be weary any more, nor see nor touch an
unclean thing. A demand for beauty and perfection
that was inexorable. Yet though a flaw or a crack
gave him so fine agony, no one, no one was ever so
tolerant as he !
I lawrhornc's allusion to Alcott brings the figure of that
Concord personage on the scene. The picture of him in
Charles Street is so sharpened in outline by certain
remarks upon him by the elder Henry James, a some-
what more frequent visitor, that the passages relating
to the two men are here joined together. The first
recorded glimpses of James occurred in the course of a
visit to Newport.
September 23, 1863. — Received a visit at Newport
from Henry James. His son was badly wounded in two
places at Gettysburg. He spoke of the reviews of his
work among other topics. " Who wrote the review in the
Examiner?" asked Mr. F. "Oh! that was merely
Freeman Clarke," he replied ; "he is a smuggler in theol-
ogy antl feels towards me much as a contraband towards
an exciseman ?" Speakingof fashion, he said, "there was
good in it," although it appears to be a drawback to the
residents here while it lasts. He anticipates a change in
European affairs; the age of ignorance is to pass away
and strong democratic tendencies will soon pervade
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 73
Europe. The march of civilization will work its revenge
against aristocratic England, he believes.
Mr. James considers that people make a mistake to
expect reason from Carlyle. "He is an artist, a wilful
artist, and no reasoner. He has only genius."
October 16, 1863. — Mr. Alcott breakfasted with us.
He said all vivid new life was well described by his
daughter Louisa. She was happier now that she had
made a success. "She was formerly not content to wait,
but so soon as she became content, then good fortune
came, as she always does." I told him we enjoyed
deeply reading his MSS. of "The Rhapsodist" (Emer-
son) last night. He said he thought it was finally
brought into presentable shape! "When in a more im-
perfect condition," he continued, "I read it to Mr.
Emerson. The modest man could only keep silent at
such a time, but he conveyed to me the idea that he
should prefer the paper should not be printed in the
'Commonwealth.' Later I again read it, when he said,
'If I were dead.' I have reason to believe that in its
present shape he would not object to its presentation." ^
He talked of his own valuable library and asked what
he should do with it by and by. J. T. F. suggested it
should go to the Union Club, which pleased him much.
"That is the place," said he. "If it were known this
was my intention, might I not also be entitled to con-
sideration at the Club.?"
I In 1865 Alcott printed privately and anonymously the essay, Emerson,
which appeared later in his acknowledged volume, Ralph Waldo Emerson,
an Estimate of his Character and Genius (Boston, 1882). This was evi-
dently The Rhapsodist.
74 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
Among his books is a copy of Milton's "World of
Words," owned by Sir Ferdinand Gorges, who early
colonized the state of Maine.
He talked of Thoreau. "There will be seven or eight
volumes of his works. Next should come the letters,
with the commendatory poems prefixed. Come up to
Concord and we will talk it over. If you go to see Miss
Thoreau, arrange to talk with her in the absence of the
mother, who would interrupt and speak again of the
whole matter. Make Helen ^ feel that Henry will receive
as much for his books as if he had made his own bar-
gain, for he was good at a bargain and they are a little
hard — that is, they do not understand all the bearings
(jf many subjects."
The good old man has come to Boston, being asked
to perform funeral ceremonies over the bodies of two
children. He asked for my Vaughan. ".A beautiful
poem which is not known is much at such a time," he
observed inquiringly. To which I heartily responded.
Mr. Emerson came in to see Mr. Fields today. "I
shall reconsider my reluctance to have Mr. Alcott's
article published provided he will obtain consideration
by it," was his generous speech. He said he had begun
to prepare a new volume of poems, "but I must go
down the harbor before I can finish a little poem about
the islands. I took steamboat yesterday and went down,
but a mist came up and my visit was to no purpose."
February 19, 1864. — This morning early called upon
Mrs. Mott of Pennsylvania. Found Mr. James with
' lliurcau's oilier sister.
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 75
her. He observed that circumstances had placed him
above want, and inheritance had given him a position
in the world which precluded his having any knowledge
of the temptations which beset many men. His virtues
were the result of his position rather than of character
— an affair of temperament. He said society was to
blame for much of the crime in it, and as for that poor
young man who committed the murder at Maiden, it
was a mere fact of temperament or inheritance. He
soon broke off his talk, saying it was "pretty well to be
caught in the middle of such weighty topics in the pres-
ence of two ladies at 10 o'clock in the morning." Then
we talked of* houses. He wishes a furnished house for a
year in Boston until his departure.
July 28. — Still hot, with a russet sun. Mr. and Mrs.
Henry James called in the evening. He talked of "Ster-
ling." "He was not stereotyped, but living, his eye
burned ; he was very vivacious, although he saw Death
approaching. He was one of the choicest of friends."
Afterward he talked of Alcott's visit to Carlyle. Car-
lyle told Mr. James he found him a terrible old bore.
It was almost impossible to be rid of him, and impossible
also to keep him, for he would not eat what was set
before him. Carlyle had potatoes for breakfast and
sent for strawberries for Mr. Alcott, who, when they
arrived, took them with the potatoes upon the same
plate, where the two juices ran together and fraternized.
This shocked Carlyle, who would eat nothing himself,
but stormed up and down the room instead. "Mrs.
Carlyle is a naughty woman," said Mr. J., "she wishes
76 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
to make a sensation and docs not mind sometimes fol-
lowing and imitating her husband's way." Mr. J. saiil
Aicott once made him a visit in New York and when
he found he could not go to Brooklyn to attend Mr.
A.'s "conversation," the latter said, "Very well; he
would talk over the heads with him then before it was
time to go." They got into a great battle about the
premises, during which Mr, Aicott talked of the Divine
paternity as relating to himself, when Mr. James broke
in with, "My dear sir, you have not fouml your mater-
nity yet. You are an egg half hatched. The shells are
yet sticking about your head." To this Mr. A. replied,
"Mr. James, you are damaged goods ami will come up
damaged goods in eternity.'*
We laughed much before they left at a story about a
man who called to ask money of John Jacob Astor.
The gentleman was ushered into a twilight library,
where he fancied himself alone until he heard a grunt
from a deep chair, the high back of which was turned
towards him ; then the gentleman advanced, found Mr.
Astor there and saluted him. He opened the business
of the subscription to him, and was about to unfold
the paper when Mr. Astor suddenly crietl out, "Oo —
oo — oo — ooo(K>oo!" "What is the matter, my dear
sir," said he, "are you ill ? [growing alarmed] Where is
the bell ? I^t me ring the bell." Then running to the
door, he shouted, " Madame, madame." Then to Mr.
Astor, "Pray, sir, what is the matter ?" "Oo — oo — oo."
"Have you a pain in your side!!" In a moment the
household came running thither, and as the housekeeper
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 77
bent over him, he cried, "Oo — 00 — these horrid
wretches sending to me for money!!" As may be be-
lieved, our friend of the subscription paper beat a hasty
retreat and here ended also our evening.
A few days later there was an evening with Sumner
and others, who talked of affairs in Washington. Mr.
and Mrs. James were of the company. "These men,"
wrote Mrs. Fields, "despond with regard to the civil
government. They have more faith that our military
affairs are doing well. Chiefly they look to Sherman as
the great man. Mr. James was silent; he believes in
Lincoln." And there is the final note: "We must not
forget Mr. James's youth, who was 'aninted with isle
of Patmos.'"
July 10, 1866. — Forceythe Wlllson came and talked
purely, lovingly, and like the pure character he aspires
to be. He said Mr. Alcott talked with him of tempera-
ments lately, with much wisdom. He said the blonde
was nearest to perfection, that was the heavenly type.
"You are not a blonde," said the seer calmly, and, said
Willson to me, "I was much amused and pleased too;
for when I regarded the old man more closely I dis-
covered he himself was a blonde."
October 6, 1867. — Mr. Henry James and his daughter
came to call. We chanced to ask him about Dr. G of
New York, a physician of wide reputation in the diag-
nosis of disease. He is an old man now, but with so
large a practice that he will see no new patients. Mr.
78 mp:mories of a hostess
James says, however, that he is a humbug, that is, as I
understood. He is a man of discernment which he turns
to the best account, but not a man of deep insight or
unwonted development. Suddenly J. remembered that
there was once a Dr. of New York who was also
famous. The moment his name was mentioned Mr.
James became quite a new man. His enthusiasm flamed.
Dr. died at the early age of ^'^8, and, according to
the saying of the world, insane. "Yet he was no more
insane than I am at this moment as far as the action of
his mind was concerned, which was always perfectly
clear. Several years before his death he was pursued by
spirits which often kept him awake all night. His wife
was a heavenly woman and a Swedenborgian. The
spirits did not come to her, but she was persuaded that
they did come to him. They so disturbed his life that
he used to say he was ready to die, in order to pursue
his tormentors and ferret out the occasion of his trouble.
At one time they told him that in every age a man had
been selected to do the bidding of the I^rd God, to be
the Lord Christ of the time, and he must fit himself
to be that man. They prescribed for him therefore cer-
tain fasts and austerities which he religiously fulfilled,
only asking in return an interview in which some sign
should be given him. They promised faithfully, but
when the time arrived it was postponed ; and this oc-
curred repeatedly, until he felt sure of the deceit of the
parties concerned."
Through the medium of these spirits Dr. be-
came at length estranged from his wife. He went West
CONCORD AND Cx^MBRIDGE 79
to obtain a divorce, and while on this strange errand
occurred a breach between himself and Mr. James. The
latter wrote him a letter urging him away from the dead,
which the doctor took as interference. The poor man
returned to New York and at length shot himself. His
wife never harbored the least animosity against him for
his undeserved treatment. (Mr. J. looked like an invalid,
but was full of spirit and kindness. He not infrequently
speaks severely of men and things. Analysis is his
second nature.)
March 5, 1869. — Jamie had an unusually turbulent
and exciting day, and was thoroughly weary when night
came. Henry James came first, and had gone so far as
to abuse Emerson pretty well when the latter came in.
"How do you do, Emer-son," he said, with his peculiar
intonation and voice, as if he had expected him on the
heels of what had gone before. Mr. James calls his new
book, "The Secret of Swedenborg." Jamie thinks his
article on Carlyle too abusive, especially as he stayed in
his house, or was there long and familiarly. But his
love of country was bitterly stung by Carlyle in "Shoot-
ing Niagara and After."
Saturday^ March 13, 1869. — Mr. Emerson read in
the afternoon. The subject was Wordsworth in chief,
but the time was far too short to do justice to the notes
he had made. In the evening we went to Cambridge to
hear Mr. James read his paper on "Woman." We took
tea first with the family and afterward listened to the
lecture. He took the highest, the most natural, and the
most religious point of view from which I have heard
8o MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
the subject discussed. He dealt metaphysically with it,
after his own fashion, showing the subtle inherent
counterparts of man to woman, showing to what ex-
tremes either would be led without the other. He spoke
with unmingled disgust of the idea of woman, except for
union in behalf of some charity for the time, forsaking
the sanctity and privacy of her home to battle and unsex
herself in the hot and dusty arena of the world.
(The members of the Woman's Club asked him to
write this lecture for them. He did not wish to spare
the time, but promised to do so if they would invite
him afterward to deliver it in public. They disliked
the lecture so much that, although they ^^/V/ send him a
public invitation, there were but twenty people present.)
Nothing could be holier or more inspiring than his
ideal of womanhood. She is the embodied social idea,
the genius of home, the light of life — "ever desiring
novelty her life without man would be a long chase
from one Held to another, accompanied by sojt gospel
truth"
He didn't fail to whip the "pusillanimous" clergy,
and as the room was overstocked with them, it was odd
to watch the eflfect. Mr. James is perfectly brave,
almost inapprehensive, of the storm of opinion he
raises, and he is quite right. Nothing could be more
clearly his own and inherent, than his views in this
lecture, nothing which the times need more. He helps
to lay that dreadful phantom of yourself which appears
now and then conjured up by the right people, har-
anguing the crowd and endeavoring to be something for
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 8i
which you were clearly never intended by Heaven. I
think I shall never forget a pretty little niece of Mrs.
Dale Owen, who was with her at the first Club meet-
ing in New York. Her face was full of softness and
Madonna-like beauty, but she was learning to con-
tract her brow over ideas and become "strong" in
her manner of expressing them. It was a kind of night-
mare.
Summer, 1871. — Mr. Alcott, Mr. Howison, Mr.
Harris, the latter two lovers of philosophy, have been
here this week. Channing is still writing poems in
Concord, says Alcott. The latter smiles blandly at his
own former absurdities, but he does not eat meat, and
continues his ancient manner of living among books.
The old gentleman gave me this wild rose as he went
away. He quoted Vaughan, talked of a book of selec-
tions he would wish to see made, "a honey-pot into
which one might dip at leisure," also an almanac suit-
able for a lady, of the choicest things among the an-
cient writers. He was full of good sayings and most
witty and attractive. He is somewhat deaf, but he
bears this infirmity as he has borne all the ills of life
with a mild sweet heroism most marked and worthy of
love and to be copied.
Sunday, April 20, 1873. — Last night Mr. and Mrs.
Henry James, Alice, and Mr. DeNormandie dined here.
Mr. James looked very venerable, but was at heart
very young and amused us much. He gave a description
of Mr. George Bradford being run over by the horse-
car, because of his own inadvertence in part, and of the
82 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
good-natured crowd who insisted upon his having resti-
tution for what he considered, in part, at least, his own
fault. "Ain't you dead?" said one. "267 Highland
Ave. is the number, don't forget," said another; "you
can prosecute." "Where's my hat?" he asked meekly.
" Better ask if ye 're not dead, and not be looking for
your hat," said another.
He also told us of a visit of Elizabeth Pcabody to the
Alcotts. He said : " In Mr. A. the moral sense was wholly
dead, and the aesthetic sense had never yet been born !"
It may well have been after a visit to the Ficldses at
the seashore town of Manchester that Henry James
wrote this undated characteristic note which embodies
the feeling of many another guest: —
Mv DEAR FlKLDS :
Pride ever goes before a fall. I scorned my wife's solic-
itude about her umbrella as unworthy of an immortal
mind, and now I am reduced to pleading with you to
preserve my lost implement in that line, and when you
next come to town to bring it with you and leave it for
me at Williams' book store, corner of School Street,
where I will reclaim it.
Alas ! The difference between now and then ! Such
an atmosphere as we are having this morning ! And yet
we did not need the contrast to impress us with a lively
seruse of the lovely house, the lovely scenes, and the
lovely people we had left. We came home fragrant
with the sweetest memories, and the way we have been
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 83
making the house resound with the fame of our enjoy-
ment would amuse you. Alice and her aunt came home
just after us, and we have done nothing but talk since
we arrived. Good bye ; give my love to that angelic
woman, whom I shall remember in my last visions,
and believe me, faithfully.
Yours also,
H.J.
Henry James's letters to Mr. and Mrs. Fields, of which
a number are preserved by the present generation of
the James family, abound in characteristic felicities. In
one of them — they are nearly all undated — he regrets
his inability to read a lecture of his own at Mrs. Fields's
invitation, on the ground that his unpublished writings
are "all too grave and serious, not for you individually
indeed, but for those 'slumberers inZion' who are apt,
you know, to constitute the bulk of a parlour audience."
in another he is evidently declining an invitation to hear
a reading of Emerson's in Charles Street : —
SwAMPScoTT, May 1 1
My dear Mrs. Fields : —
My wife — who has just received your kind note In
rapid route to the Dedham Profane Asylum, or some-
thing of that sort — begs leave to say, through me as a
willing and sensitive medium, that you are one of those
arva beata^ renowned in poetry, which, visit them never
so often, one is always glad to revisit, which are attrac-
tive in all seasons by their own absolute light, and with-
84 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
out any Emersonian pansics and buttercups to make
them so. This enthusiastic Dedhamitc says further, in
effect, that while one is deeply grateful for your courte-
ous offer of a seat upon your sofa to hear the Concord
sage, she yet prefers the material banquet you summon
us to in your dining-room, since there wc should be out
ot the mist and able to discern between nature and
cookery, between what cats and what is eaten at all
events, and feel a thankful mind that we were in solid
comfortable Charles Street, instead of the vague, wide,
weltering galaxy, and should be sure to deem Annie and
Jamie (/ am sure of Annie, I think my wife feels equally
sure of Jamie) lovelier fireflies than ever sparkled in the
cold empyrean. But alas, who shall control his destiny ?
Not my wife, whom multitudinous cares enthrall; nor
yet myself, whom a couple of months' enforced illness
now constrains to a preternatural activity, lest the world
fail of salvation. . . .
P. S. \N ho did contrive the comical title for his lec-
ture— "Philosophy of the Pef)ple"? I suspect it was
a joke of J. T. V. It would be no less absurd for Emer-
son himself to think of philosophizing than it would be
tor the rose to think of botanizing. Emerson is the Di-
vinely pompous rose of the philosophic garden, gorgeous
with colour and fragrance. What a sad lookout there
would be for tulip and violet and lily and the humble
grape, if the rose should turn out philosophic gardener
as well ! Philosophy of the people^ too ! But that was
Fields, or else it was only R. W. E. after dining with V.
at the Union Club and becoming demoralized.
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 85
The final paragraph of a single other note suggests
in sum the relation between James and his Charles
Street friends : —
Speaking of Mr. Fields always reminds me of various
things so richly endowed in the creature in all good
gifts ; but the dominant consideration in my mind asso-
ciated with him is his beautiful home and there chiefly
that atmosphere and faultless womanly worth and dig-
nity which fills it with light and warmth and makes it
a real blessing to one's heart every time he falls within
its precincts. Please felicitate the wretch for me, and
believe me, my dear Mrs. Fields,
Your true friend and servant,
July 8. H. J.
Though not related either to Alcott or to Henry
James, the following entry, on October 16, 1863, should
be preserved — and as well in this place as in another.
It refers to the second of the three Josiah Quincys who
were mayors of Boston in the course of the nineteenth
century.
Mr. Josiah Quincy dropped in to see J. T. F. He had
lately been traveling in the West, he said. People com-
plimented him upon his youthful appearance and his
last letter to the President. "I am glad you liked the
letter," he said, "but my father wrote it." At the next
town people pressed his hand and thanked him for
his staunch adherence to the Anti-slavery cause as
86 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
expressed in the "Liberator." "Oh," his reply was, "that
was my brother Edmund Quincy " ; a little farther on a
friend complimented his brilliant story in the last "At-
lantic" magazine. "That was by my son J. P. Quincy,"
he was obliged to answer. I*'inally, when his exploits in
the late wars at the head of the 20th Regiment were
recounted, he grew impatient, said it was his son
Colonel Quincy, but he thought it high time he came
home, instead of travelling about to receive the com-
pliments of others.
In giving the title, "Glimpses of Emerson," to one
of the chapters in her "Authors and Friends," Mrs.
Fields described accurately the use she made of her
records and remembrances of that serene Olympian
who glided in' and out of Boston to the awe and
delight of those with whom he came into personal con-
tact. "Olympian" must be the word, since "Augus-
tan " connotes something quite too mundane to suggest
the effect produced by Emerson upon his sympathetic
contemporaries. Did they realize, I wonder, how fit-
ting it was that this prophet of the harmonies of life
should live in a place the name of which is spoken by all
but New Englanders as if it signified not a despairing
/V vic/is, but the very bond of peace ? All the adjec-
tives of benignity have been bestowed upon Emerson.
Mrs. Fields's "Glimpses" of him suggest that atmos-
phere, as of mountain solitudes, in which he moved ;
that air of the heights which those who moved beside
EMERSON
From the marble statve by Daniel Chester French in the Concord Public Library
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 87
him were fain to breathe. His " Conversations " in pub-
lic and private places, a form of intellectual refresh-
ment suggested by Mrs. Fields and conducted, to
Emerson's large material advantage, by her husband,
appear to-day as highly characteristic of their time, —
the sixties and seventies, — and the light thrown upon
them by her journal illuminates not only him and her,
but the whole society of "superior persons" in which
Emerson was so dominating a figure. By no means all
of that light escaped from her manuscript journals to
the printed page of "Authors and Friends." In the
hitherto unprinted passages now given there are fur-
ther shafts of it, sometimes slender in themselves, but
joining to show the very Emerson that came and went
in Charles Street.
There was a furtive humor in Emerson, which ex-
pressed itself more accurately in his own words than in
anything written about him. A pleasant trace of it is
found in a note to Fields addressed, "My dear Editor,"
dated "Concord, October 5, 1866," and containing these
words : "I have the more delight in your marked over-
estimate of my poem, that I had been vexed with a
belief that what skill I had in whistling was nearly or
quite gone, and that I must henceforth content myself
with guttural consonants or dissonants, and not attempt
warbling."
There is a clear application of the Emersonian phil-
osophy to domestic matters in a letter written by Mrs.
Emerson to Mrs. Fields, a week after the fire which
drove the poet's family from his house at Concord, in
88 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
the summer of 1872. Mrs. Fields — as if in fulfillment
of Emerson's words on the proflFer of some previous
hospitality: "Indeed we think that your house should
have that name inscribed upon it — 'Hospitality'" -
had invited the dislodged Emersons to take refuge
under her roof. Mrs. Emerson, replying, wrote: —
We are most happily settled in the "Old Manse,"
where our cousin, Miss Ripley, assures us we can be
accommodated — to her satisfaction as well as our
own — until our house is rebuilt. Only the upper half
is destroyed and we shall, I trust, so well restore it that
you will not know — when we shall have the pleasure
of welcoming you there — except for its fresh appear-
ance, that anything has happened. I should not use
such a word as "calamity," for truly the whole event is
a blessing rather than a misfortune. We have received
such warm expressions of kindness from our friends, and
have witnessed such disinterested action and brave
daring in our town's people, that we feel — in addition
to our happiness in the sympathy of friends in other
places — as if Concord was a large family of personal
friends and well-wishers. They command not only our
gratitude but our deep respect, for their loving and
personal self-forgetfulness.
Mr. Emerson and Ellen join mc in affectionate and
grateful acknowledgments to yourself and to Mr. Fields.
Ever your friend,
Lilian Emersom
Concord, "July ji, 1872.
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 89
It is in the atmosphere of the mutual relation revealed
in many letters from Emerson and his household to
Mr. and Mrs. Fields that the following reports of en-
counters with him — a few out of many similar pas-
sages in her journals — should be read.
December 3, 1863. — Last Tuesday Mr. Emerson lec-
tured in town. Mrs. E. and Edith came to tea. She was
troubled because she was a little late. She is a woman of
proud integrity and real sweetness. She has an awe of
words. They mean so much to her that her lips do not
unlock save for truth or kindliness or beauty or wisdom.
The lecture was for today — there was much of Carlyle,
chastisement, and soul. After the lecture they came
home with us and about 20 friends. Wendell Phillips
was in his sweetest mood. He spoke of Beecher and
Luther and of the vigorous, healthy hearts of these men
who swayed this world. He said Hallam speaks dis-
paragingly of Luther. I could not but think of Sydney
Smith's friend who spoke "disparagingly of the Equa-
tor." Alden too came in wearied after his lecture. Sena-
tor Boutwell spoke in praise of life in Washington, the
first man. Sunshiny Edith passed the night with us,
January 5, 1864. — Mr. Emerson came today to see
J. T. F. He says Mr. Blake, who holds the letters of
Thoreau in his hands, is a terribly conscientious man,
"a man who would even return a borrowed umbrella."
He became acquainted with Blake when he was con-
nected with theological matters, "and he believed
90 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
wholly in me at that time, but one day he met Thoreau
and he never came to my house afterwards. His con-
scientiousness is equalled perhaps by that of George
Bradford, who accompanied us once to hear Mr. Web-
ster speak. There was an immense crowd, Mr. Brad-
ford became separated from the party, and was swept
into a capital place within the lines. When he found
himself well ensconced in front of the speaker, he turned
about and saw us, and with a look of great concern said :
*I have no ticket for this place and I can't stay.* We
besought him not to be so foolish as to give up the place,
but nothing would tempt him to keep it."
He was in fine mood.
IVednesdayy September 6. — Mr. Emerson went to see
Mr. Fields. "There are fine lines in Lowell's Ode," he
said. "Yes," answered J. T. F., "it is a fine poem." " I
have found fine lines in it," replied the seer. "I told
Lowell once," he continued, "that his humorous poems
gave me great pleasure ; they were worth all his serious
poetry. He tlid not take it very well, but muttered, 'The
Washers of the Shroud,' and walked away."
J. T. F. found Emerson sitting by the window in his
new office, highly delighted with it.
September TfO^ 1865. — Jamie went to dine with the
Saturday Club. Professor Nichol was his guest. Sam.
Ward (Julia's brother) was Longfellow's. Lowell,
Holmes, Hoar, Emerson and a few others only were
present. Judge Hoar related an amusing anecdote of
having sent a beautiful basket of pears to the Concord
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 91
exhibition this year. He said Mr. Emerson was one of
the judges, and he thought he would be pleased with the
pears because a few years ago he was in the garden one
day and, observing that very tree, which was not then
very flourishing, had told Judge Hoar that more iron
and more animal matter were needed in the soil. " Forth-
with," said the Judge, "I planted all my old iron kettles
and a cat and a dog at the foot of the tree and these
pears were the result. I have kept two favorite terriers
ready to plant if necessary beside, but the fruit for the
present seems well enough without them."
Judge Hoar said also that he knew a man once with a
prodigious memory ; before dinner he could recall Gen-
eral Washington, after dinner he remembered Chris-
topher Columbus !
Saturday y October ^^ 1865. — Tuesday, 3, Edith Emer-
son was married to William Forbes. The old house
threw wide its hospitable doors and the stairway and
rooms were covered with leaves and flowers and the
whole place was as beautiful as earthly radiance and joy
can make a home. Poor Mrs. Hawthorne, laden with
her many sorrows, threw off her black robe for that day
that she might rejoice with others. Edith made her own
marriage wreath, and even Mr. Emerson wore white
gloves. Old Mrs. Ripley and many aged and many
beautiful persons were there.
In 1 866 Emerson, long exiled from the good graces of
his Alma Mater, was restored to them by the bestowal of
an honorary degree. In 1867 the restoration was com-
92 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
pleted by his election as an Overseer of Harvard College
and his appearance, after an interval of thirty years, as
the Phi Beta Kappa orator. In this capacity he read his
address on the "Progress of Culture" on July i8, 1867.
Of the manner in which he did it, and of the effect he
produced on his hearers, Lowell wrote immediately to
Norton, in a letter often quoted, "He boggled, he lost
his place, he had to put on his glasses ; but it was as if a
creature from some fairer world had lost his way in our
fogs, and it was owr fault, not his." "Phi Beta Day" was
still a local festival of much brilliance, which was thus
reflected in 1867 on the pages of Mrs. Fields's journal.
Thursday J July 18, 1867. — Arose at five and worked
in my garden until breakfast. Then it was time to dress
for Phi Beta at Cambridge. We drove out, leaving
home at nine o'clock. We expected Professor .Andrew D.
White to g(j with us, but he called still earlier to say he
had been summoned to a business meeting by President
Hill. The day was soft and pleasant with a clouded sky.
We were among the first on the ground, but we had the
pleasure of waiting a few moments to see our friends
arrive before we were admitted to the church. Only
ladies went in. I went with Mrs. Quincy, the poet's ^
wife (poet for the day, for he is apt to disclaim this
title usually), and we found good places in the gallery ;
by and by, however, Mrs. Dana beckoned to me to come
and sit with them, so I changed my seat to a place on
the lower floor. It was an impressive sight to see those
' Josiah Phillips Quincy.
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 93
men come in (though they kept us waiting until twelve
o'clock) — Lowell, Emerson, Dana, Hale, and all the
good brave men we have with few exceptions. First
came Quincy's poem, then Mr. Emerson's address —
both excellent after the manner of the men. Poor Mr.
E.'s MSS. was in inextricable confusion, and in spite of
the chivalry of E. E. Hale, who hunted up a cushion that
he might see better, the whole -matter seemed at first
out of joint in the reader's eyes. However that may have
been, it was far from out of joint in our eyes, being noble
in aim and influence, magnetic, imaginative. I felt
grateful that I had lived till that moment and as if I
might come home to live and work better. Thank
Heaven for such a master ! He was evidently put out
and angry with himself for his disorder and, taking Mr.
Fields's arm as he came from the assembly, had to be
somewhat reassured that it was not an utter failure.
Mrs. Dana tried to carry me to lunch, most kindly.
I could not make up my mind to go anywhere after
what I had heard, but for a moment to see if the good
Jameses were well, and thence homeward. It seemed,
if I could ever work, it must be then.
At half-past six Jamie returned from the dinner,
where J. R. Lowell presided in the most elegant and bril-
liant manner. In calling out Agassiz he told the story
of the sailor who was swallowed by a whale and finding
time rather heavy on his hands thought he would in-
scribe his name on the bridge of bone above his head ;
but looking for a place, jack-knife in hand, he found
that Jonah was before him — so he said Agassiz, etc.
94 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
And of Holmes he said that the Professor and himself
were like two buckets in a well : when one of them pre-
sided at a dinner, the other made it a point to bring a
poem; when one bucket came up full, the other went
down empty. And so on through all. Phillips Brooks,
the distinguished preacher of Philadelphia, was there,
and many other men of note.
Out of the many notes relating to Emerson's lectures,
a few passages may be taken as typical. Perhaps the
best unpublished pages are those on which the philos-
opher is seen, with his wife and daughter, against the
social background of the time and place.
October 19, 1868. — The weeks spin away so fast I
have no time for records, and yet last Sunday and Mon-
day we had two pleasant parties, especially Monday,
after Mr. Emerson's first lecture. We were I4 at supper.
Mrs. Putnam and Miss Oakcy among the guests, but
the Emersons, who are always pleased and always full
of kindliness, enjoyment, and Christianity, I believe give
more pleasure than they receive wherever they are
entertained. Edward is full of his grape-culture in
Milton, Ellen full of good works, Mrs. Emerson very
hot against her brother's opponents, Morton and those
who take sides with him now that Morton himself is in
the earth-mould first.' Mr. Emerson, alive and alert on
all topics, talked openly of the untruthfulness of the
' An .illusion to the controversy over the claims of Dr, Jackson anJ
Dr. Morton to the discovery of ether.
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 95
Peabodys, of the beauty of " Charles Auchester," of Mr.
Alcott's school, of Dana's politics as superior perhaps
to Butler and yet not altogether sound and worthy, con-
servatism being so deep in his blood.
Thursday we drove our friends to Milton Blue Hill
after the Emersons had gone, returned to dine and
Selwyn's theatre in the evening. Herman Merivale was
of the party — son of Thackeray's friend. The
Stephens went on Wednesday. Thursday we dined in
Milton with Mrs. Silsbee; it was a wet nasty day.
Friday, Saturday and Sunday we were quietly enough
here, Jamie with a fearful cold. Surely all this is unim-
portant enough as regards ourselves; but I like to re-
member when Mr. Emerson came and what he said and
how he looked, for it is a pure benediction to see him
and I honor and love him.
February 20, 1869. — Heard Emerson again, and
Laura was with me ; we drank up every word eagerly.
He read Donne, Daniel, and especially Herbert; also
vers de societe; the facility of these old divines giving
them a power akin to what has produced these familiar
rhymes.
He said Herbert was full of holy quips ; fond of using
a kind of irony towards God, and quoted appropriately.
Beautiful things of Herrick, too, he read, but treated
Vaughan rather unjustly, we thought.
Lowell sat just behind; I could imagine his running
commentary on many of Mr. Emerson's remarks, which
were often more Emersonian than universal, or true.
The facility of the old poets seemed to impress him with
96 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
almost undue reverence. He Is extremely natural and
easy in manner and speech during these readings. He
bent his brows and shut his eyes, endeavoring to recall
a passage from Ben Jonson as if we were at his own
dinner-table, and at hist when he gave it up said, "It
is all the more provoking as I do not doubt many a
friend here might help me out with it."
His respect for literature, often in these degenerate
days smiled upon from some imaginary hills by sur-
rounding multitudes, is absolute and regnant. It is
religion and life, ;uul he reiterating them in every
form.
The first and second of the "Conversations" arranged
for Emerson by Fields are duly described in the journal.
In the evening that followed the second, Emerson and
his daughter dined at Charles Street, in company with
Longfellow and his daughter Alice, William Morris
Hunt and his wife. Dr. Holmes, and the Fieldses. The
scene and talk were recorded by the hostess.
. . . Coming home, Ellen's trunk had not arrived,
so she came, like a gcK)d child, most difficult in a woman
grown, to dinner in her travelling dress. Alice Long-
fellow looked very pretty in a polonaise of lovely olive
brown over black; a little feather of the same color in
her hair. Rooshue [Mrs. flunt] and her husband came
in their everydays too. I wore a lilac polonaise with
a yellow rose — I speak of the latter because it seemed
to please W. M. Hunt to see the dash of color. . . .
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 97
Hunt convulsed us with a story of seeing a man run
through by an iron bolt, when a distinguished physi-
cian is called in; the physician asks if he can sleep
well, and a thousand and one questions of like rele-
vancy, to all of which the patient only replies by gasps
of agony. Hunt acted the whole scene famously. The
sunset too delighted him as it gilded the old sheds back
of the house and made them "like Solomon's temple."
Longfellow has written to Miss Rossetti, the author of
the "Shadow of Dante," to thank her for her pleasant
book. He asks her the difficult question why Dante
puts Venus nearest the sun. Also he points out her
fault of saying the spirits of the blest inhabited the
planets, whereas Dante clearly states that they all
lived in one heaven but visited the planets.
The truth of Hawthorne's tale of the minister with
the black veil was hunted up. His name was Moody
and he was one of the Emerson family. It seems the
poor man in his youth shot a boy by accident, and as
he grew older a morbid temper settled upon him and he
did not think himself fit to preach; so he withdrew
from the ministry but taught a smajl school, always
wore a black veil, literally a handkerchief. Ellen said
her aunt was taught by him and she appeared anxious
to set the matter right. Rose Hawthorne and her hus-
band have been to see Mr. Emerson, and he likes them
both well ; thinks Rose looks happy and the young man
promising, which is much. There is hope of Una's
recovery and return.
After dinner, we ladies looked over manuscripts for
98 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
a time until Longfellow went — when Mrs. Hunt went
to the piano and played and sang. Finally he came, and
they sang their little ducts together and afterward she
sang a song with words by Channing about a pine tree,
set to a scrap of a sonata by Helen Bell, and after that a
touching German song with English words — then she
read Cciia's [Mrs. Thaxter's] new poem to Mr. Emerson,
called "The Tryst." She read it only pretty well, which
disgusted her ; and she said it reminded her of William's
reading, which was the worst she ever knew ; he could
literally stop in the middle of a sentence because it
happened to be the bottom of a page, and ask her what
it meant. At that he took Celia's poem and reail it
through wortl for word like a school-boy, K)oking up at
her to see if he was right and should go on. She laughed
immotlerately, and as for Mr. Emerson, J. said his eyes
left their wonted sockets and went to laugh far back in
his brain.
Putting down his book. Hunt launched off into his
own life as a painter. His lonely position here without
anyone to lcK)k up to in his art — his idea of art being
entirely misunderstood, his determination wo/ to paint
cloth and cheeks, but to paint the glory of age and the
light of truth. He became almost too excited to find
words, but when he did grasp a phrase, it was such a
fine one that it went a great way. His wife sat by mak-
ing running comments, but when he said, "If any man
who was talking could not be heard, he would naturally
try to talk so that he could be heard," we tried to urge
him to stand firm and to assure him that his efforts were
A CORNER OF THE CHARLES STREET LIBRARY
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 99
neither lost nor in vain. "If the books you wrote were
left all dusty and untouched upon the shelves, don't
you think you would try to write so that people should
want them ? I am sure you would." His wife tried to
say he must stand in the way he knew was right — as
did we all — but he seemed to think it too hard, too
Sisyphus-like a labor. The portrait of little Paul is
still unsold. After keeping the carriage waiting one hour
and a half, they went — a most interesting pair.
Tuesday J April 23. — Shakespeare's birthday. Emer-
son and his daughter passed the night with us and
Edith Davidson, Ellen's "daughter," came to break-
fast. We talked over again the pleasure of the night
before. Emerson had never heard Hunt talk before and
had seldom found Longfellow so expansive. Holmes
met J. in the course of the day, and told him he had
a real good time, though he did have a thumping head-
ache — he was much pleased with Alice Longfellow.
Tuesday^ May 21. — Call from Mr. Emerson, Mrs. E.
and Ellen. They came in a body to thank me, which
Mrs. Emerson did in a little set speech after her own
fashion, at which we all laughed heartily — especially
at the "profit" clause. Indeed we had a very merry
time altogether. Mr. Emerson gave "Queenie" per-
mission to look all about the room, "for indeed there
was not such another in all Boston — no indeed [half
soliloquizing], not such another." Then he looked about
and told them the wrong names of the painters, and
would have been entirely satisfied if he had not referred
to me, when I was obliged to tell the truth and so from
lOO
MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
that time he made me speaker. He said he should do
his very best for the university class for women for next
December to make up for having served them so badly
this winter. He said I had very goitly reminded him of
^^J^<^<^^S>A..-!J2^ p-.^
%:
^^^^
^CuL.'''y^yC'<^ jyCC-'^^^tsC^ ,
From a no/e of Ei
I's to Afrs. I'icLis
his entire forgetfulness to fulfil an engagement or half-
engagement to come to speak to them this winter.
"Queenie" told me she was one of the few persons who
had read Miss Mitford's poems, "Blanche" and all the
rest, and liked them very much. So the various por-
traits of the old lady interested her much.
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE loi
They came down to Boston, Mrs. E. said, on purpose
to make this call. I had just returned home from along
drive about town on business, so it was the best possible
moment for me.
Our first thought this morning (J's. and mine) was,
how could Mr. Emerson finish his course of " Conversa-
tions," which had been so brilliant until the last, in so
unsatisfactory a manner. His' matter was for the most
part old, and he finished with reading well-known hymns
of Dr. Watts and Mrs. Barbauld. I fear we were all
disappointed. Some of the lectures (especially the one
on "Love") have been so fine that we were bitterly
disappointed.
A later reference to Emerson shows him in Philadel-
phia, and through the eyes of a qualified observer there.
The passage was written at Manchester-by-the-Sea, to
which Mr. and Mrs. Fields had begun to pay summer
visits even before 1872, and where they soon acquired
that cottage of their own on "Thunderbolt Hill," which
belied its name in serving as the most peaceful of retreats
for Mrs. Fields and the friends she was constantly sum-
moning to her side through all the remainder of her life.
Tuesday^ August 25, 1872. — Miss A. Whitney came
Saturday and remained until Monday morning. Sun-
day evening we passed at Mrs. Towne's. Mrs. Annis
Wister^ of Pennsylvania had just arrived, a dramatic
^ Daughter of the Rev. William Henry Furness, of Philadelphia, and trans-
lator of German novels.
I02 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
creature, who tells and tells again at request, with as
much amiability as talent, her wonderful story of
Father Donne, the Irish priest, who performed the
marriage ceremony for one of her servants. Mrs. Wis-
ter, in spite of a lisp, has a thoroughly clear enuncia-
tion. She never leaves a sentence unfinished nor suffers
the imagination to complete any corner of her picture.
She is exceedingly lively and witty, and Miss Whitney,
whose mind is quite different and altogether introverted,
busied over her artistic, conceptions, could not help a
feeling of envy. The gift of narration, so rare in this
country, has been carefully cultivated by Mrs. Wister,
and poor Miss Whitney could only wonder and admire.
I could see her fine large eyes glow with pleasure and
desire as she listened to her. Mrs. Wister told me an odd
thing, which shows her as an imlividual. She asked me
how the testimonial to Mr. Emerson was progressing, as
her father was much interested and thought nothing he
possessed too good to be given at once to Mr. Emerson,
nor indeed worthy of his acceptance, and she would like
to write him. I told her I believed the sum had reached
^10,000, and had already been presented. This led her
to say the friendship of her father for Mr. Emerson,
and indeed their mutual friendship, as she then believed
it to be, dated back to their youth, when Mr. Emerson
was first writing his poems and delighting over the
illustrations her father would make for them. As she
grew up, she became dissatisfied at the relation be-
tween them. She thought Mr. Furness, her father,
gave much more to Mr. Emerson in the way of friend-
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 103
ship than Mr. Emerson ever appreciated. This went
on until she became about eighteen years of age, when
Mr. Emerson chanced to be visiting them in Pennsyl-
vania. One day she was standing upon the stairs near
the front door, and Mr. Emerson was ready to go out
and waiting there for her father, who had withdrawn
for a moment. Her heart was full, and suddenly she
turned upon Mr. Emerson, and said, "Mr. Emerson, I
think you cannot know what a treasure you have in
this friendship of my father. He loves you dearly and
I fear you cannot appreciate what it is to have the love
of such a man as my father." She says to this day she
grows "pank," as the Scotchman said, all over at such
presumption, but she could not help it.
I asked what Mr. Emerson replied. He looked sur-
prised, she said, and cast his eyes down, and then said
earnestly that he knew and felt deeply how unworthy
he was to enjoy the riches of such a friendship.
This incident presented Mrs. Wister as well as Mr.
Emerson under a keen light. They could never under-
stand each other.
From October, 1872, until the following May, Emer-
son and his daughter Ellen were traveling abroad. On
their return Mrs. Fields wrote in her journal : —
Thursday, May 27, 1873. — The Nortons came home
with the Emersons day before yesterday. Emerson
came to pass an hour with J. T. F. before going to Con-
cord. His son Edward had come down to meet him and
104 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
was full of excitement over the reception his father was
to receive and of which he was altogether ignorant. He
was overjoyed to be on the old ground again and comes
back to value the old friends even more than ever. He
must have been much pleased by the joy testified in
Concord, but we have only the newspaper account of
that. He has been feted more than ever in England, and
Ellen was rather worn out by the ovations; but her
general health is much improved. The Nortons, who
returned In the same steamer, tell me Miss Emerson
was feted for her own sake and was his rival ! Her
"American manners" became all the rage in that world
of novelty. One night a gentleman sitting next her at
dinner introduced the word "esthetic." She said she
did not understand what he meant by that word !
On the voyage Emerson was devoted to his daughter
and full of fun in all his talk with her. He would tuck
her up in blanket shawls and go up and down, hither
and yon, to make her comfortable — then he would
laugh at her for being such an exacting young lady and
would be very ironical about the manner in which she
would allow him to wait on her. "And yet," he said,
turning U) the Nortons, "Ellen is the torch of religion
at ht)me."
Throughout the journals Mrs. Fields's references to
meetings of the Saturday Club, and the records of con-
versations reported by her husband after these lively
gatherings, are frequent. In one brief entry Parkman,
Lowell, and Emerson appear in a conjunction that could
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 105
hardly have been happy at the moment, but the con-
cKidlng words of the passage may well stand, for their
appreciation of Emerson, at the end of these pages con-
cerned chiefly with him.
August 26, 1874. — • • • Parkman said to Lowell,
and a more strange evidence of lapse of tact could hardly
be discovered, "Lowell, what did you mean by * the land
of broken promise'?" Emerson, catching at this last,
said, "What is this about the land of broken promise ?"
clearly showing he had never read Lowell's Ode upon the
death of Agassiz — whereat Lowell answered not at all,
but dropped his eyes and silence succeeded, although
Parkman made some kind of futile attempt to struggle
out of it. Emerson said, "We have met two great losses
in our Club since you were last here — Agassiz and
Sumner." "Yes," said Lowell, "but a greater than
either was that of a man I could never make you believe
in as I did — Hawthorne." This ungracious speech
silenced even Emerson, whose warm hospitality to the
thought and speech of others is usually unending.
In "Authors and Friends" Mrs. Fields concerned
herself with Longfellow and Whittier at even greater
length than with Holmes and Emerson. The Whit-
tier paper, besides, was printed as a small separate vol-
ume; and in Samuel T. Pickard's "Life of Whittier,"
as in Samuel Longfellow's biography of his brother,
the letters from Whittier, as from Longfellow, to Mrs.
Fields, and to her husband, bear witness to valued
io6 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
intimacies. Neither to Whittier nor to Longfellow,
therefore, does it seem desirable to devote a special
section of these papers ; nor yet to L<iwcll, who never
became the subject of published reminiscences by Mrs.
Fields, perhaps for the very reason that he figures
/>«' ^wf. ^*^^ fxy Px^/s^
^ Li/ J fl^^ jc::^:
A<. L/^^^X t0 fair A^w-
luicsiniiU of aulos^raph inscription on a pholop-aph of Rowse's
crayon portrait of Ijowell given to Fields
somewhat less frequently than the others in her jour-
nal. Yet there are many allusions to him, and in addi-
tion to the letters to Fields which Norton selected for
his "Letters of James Russell Lowell," and Scudder
JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL
From the crayon portrait by Rowse in the Harvard College Library
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 107
for his biography of Lowell, a surprising number
of unprinted, characteristic communications, both to
Fields and to his wife, testify to their friendship. The
remainder of this chapter cannot be more profitably
employed than by drawing from Mrs. Fields's journal
passages relating to these and other local guests of
the Charles Street house, and supplementing the diary
especially with a few of Lowell's sprightly letters to
his successor in the editorship of the "Atlantic
Monthly." It may be remarked, as fairly indicative
of the relations between Lowell and the Fieldses
through many years, that when they visited England
in 1869 their traveling companion was Lowell's daugh-
ter Mabel.
Here, to begin with, is a note written to accom-
pany one of Lowell's most familiar poems, "After the
Burial," when he sent the manuscript to the editor of
the "Atlantic." Lowell's practice of shunning capitals
at the beginning of his letters, except for the first
personal pronoun, is observed m the quotations that
follow : —
Elmwood, 8M March^ 1868
My dear Fields : —
when I am in a financial crisis, which is on an average
once in six weeks, I look first to my portfolio and then
to you. The verses I send you are most of them more
than of age, but Professors don't write poems, and I
even begin to doubt if poets do — always. But I sup-
pose you will pay me for my name as you do others, and
io8 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
so I send the verses hoping you may also find something
in them that is worth praise if not coin. Consolation
and commonplace are twin sisters and I doubt not one
sat at each ear of Eve after Cain's misunderstanding
with his brother. In some folks they cause resentment,
and this little burst relieved mine under some desper-
ate solacings after the death of our first child, twenty-
one years ago. I trust there is nothing too immediately
personal to myself in the poem to make the publishing
of it a breach of that confidence which a man should
keep sacred with himself.
With kind regards to Mrs. Fields, I remain always
yours,
J. R. FoWF.I.L
Another typical letter, dated "Elmwood, 12th July,
1868, M to 9 AM wind W. by N. Therm 88°," be-
gins:—
Mv DKAR Fields : —
as I swelter here, it is some consolation for mc that
you are roasting in that Yankee-baker which we call
the \V" M". That repercussion of the sun's heat from
so many angles at once (the focus being the tourist) al-
ways struck me as one of the sublimest examples of the
unvarying operation of natural laws. I wish you and
Mrs. Fields might be made exceptions, but it can hardly
be hoped.
Before the end of the month Fields had escaj^d the
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 109
perils of New Hampshire heat, and paid a visit to Ehn-
wood, thus chronicled by Mrs. Fields : —
July 25, 1868. — J. went out to see Lowell last night.
As he passed Longfellow's door, "Trap," the dog, was
half-asleep apparently on the lawn, but hearing a foot-
step he leaped up and, seeing who it was, became over-
joyed, leaped upon him and covered his hands with
caresses. He stayed some time playing with him. Low-
ell was alone in his library, looking into an empty fire-
place and smoking a pipe. He has been in Newport for
a week, but was delighted to return to find his "own
sponge hanging on its nail" and to his books. He had
become quite morbid because, while J. was away, a
smaller sum than usual was sent him for his last poem.
He thought it a delicate way of saying they wished to
drop him. He was annoyed at the thought of having
left out of his article on Dryden one of the finest points,
he thought, that was making Dryden to appear the
"Rubens" of literature, which he appears to him to be.
Lowell is a man deeply pervaded with fine discontents.
I do not believe the most favorable circumstances would
improve him. Success, of which he has a very small
share considering his deserts (for his books have a nar-
row circulation), would make him gayer and happier;
whether so wise a man, I cannot but doubt.
He wears a chivalric, tender manner to his wife.
In the following autumn. Bayard Taylor and his
wife were paying a visit in Charles Street, and Lowell
no MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
appears in Mrs. Fields's journal as one of the friends
summoned in their honor.
Thursday mor?nfigy November 19, 1868. — Mr. Parton
came to breakfast and Dr. Holmes came in before we
had quite done. O. W. H. was delighted to see Mr. P.,
because of his papers on "Smoking and Drinking." He
believes smoking paralyzes the will. Taylor, on the con-
trary, feels himself better for smoking; it subdues his
physical energy so he can write; otherwise he is nervous
to be up and away and his mind will not work.
At dinner we had Lowell, Parton, Mr. ami Mrs.
Taylor, Mr. and Mrs. Scott-Siddons and, later, Aldrich.
Lowell talked most interestingly, head and shoulders
beyond everybody else. The Siddonses left early, the
gentlemen all smitten by her beauty and loveliness. A
kind of chiKlish grace pervailed her and she was beau-
tiful as a picture. I couKl not wonder at their delight.
Lowell's talk after their departure was of literature, of
course. He has been rcatling Calderon for the last six
months, in the original. He finds him inexhaustible
almost. Speaking of novels, he said Fielding was the
master, although he considers there are but two perfect
creations of individual character in all literature; these
are FalstafT and Don Quixote; all the rest fell infinitely
below — are imperfect and unworthy to stand by their
side. Tom Jones he thought might come in, in the
second rank, with many others, but far below. He said
he could not tell his boys at Cambridge to read Tom
Jones, for it might do them harm; but Fielding painted
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE
III
his own experience and the result was unrivalled.
Thackeray and the rest were pleasant reading, very
pleasant, and yet how could he tell his class that he read
Tom Jones once a year ! ^ He scouted the idea of Pick-
wick or anybody else approaching his two great char-
acters. They stood alone for all time. Rip Van Winkle
was suggested, but he said in the first place that was not
original. Few persons knew the story perhaps in the old
Latin (he gave the name, but unhappily I have for-
gotten it) but it was only a remade dish after all.
Friday. ■ — Bayard Taylor and his wife left for New
York. Mr. Parton dined out and we had a quiet eve-
ning at home and went to bed early. (Parton thinks it
would be possible to make the "Atlantic Monthly" far
more popular. He suggests a writer named Mark Twain
be engaged, and more articles connected with life than
with literature.)
It is easy to believe that Lowell's talk must have
sounded much like his letters, which so often sound like
talk. Witness the following sentences from a letter of
December 21, 1868, in reply, apparently, to an appeal for
a new essay for the "Atlantic" : —
^ One of Lowell's reminiscences at the Saturday Club, recorded two years
earlier by Mrs. Fields, suggests his essential youthfulness of spirit. Apropos
of a story told by Dr. Holmes, "Lowell said that reminded him of experi-
ments the boys at his school used to make on flies, to see how much weight
they could carry. One day he attached a thread, which he pulled out of his
silk handkerchief, to a fly's leg, and to the other end a bit of paper with 'the
master is a fool' written on it in small distinct letters. The fly flew away and
lighted on the master's nose ; but he, regardless of all but the lessons, brushed
him off, and the fly rose with his burden to the ceiling."
112 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
Well, well, T am always astonished at the good nature
of folks, and how much boring they will stand from au-
thors. As I told Howells once, the day will come when
a wiser generation will drive all its literary men into a
corner and make a battue of the whole lot. However,
"after me, the deluge," as Nero said, and I suppose
they '11 stand another essay or two yet, if I can divine,
or rather if I have absorbed enough of the general feel-
ing about something to put a point on it.
It *s a mercy I 'm not conceited ! I should like to be,
and try to be, and have fizzes of it now and then, but
they soon go out and leave a/o^o behind them I don't
like. But if I only were for a continuance I should be
as grand a bore as ever lived — as grand as Wordsworth,
by Jove ! I would come into town once a week to read
you over one of my old poems (selecting the longest, of
course), and point out its beauties to you. You would
flee to Tierra del Fuego (ominous name !) to escape me.
You would give up publishing. You would write an epic
and read a book just to 77ie every time I came. But no, it
is too bright a dream. Let me [be] satisfied with my class,
who have to hear me once a week, and with just enough
conceit to read my lectures as if I had not stolen *em,
as I am apt to do now. Look out for an essay that shall
Imake] Montaigne and Bacon cross as the devil —
when they come to read it ! It will come ere you think.
Yours ever,
Fabius C. Lowell
A few weeks later Lowell was writing arjain to Fields,
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 113
on January 12, 1869, about a fiftieth birthday party at
Elmwood : —
I am going to celebrate my golden wedding with Life,
on the 22nd of next month, by a dinner or a supper or
something of the kind, and I want you to jine. I shall
get together a dozen or so of old friends, and it will be a
great satisfaction for you and me to see how much grayer
the rest of 'em are than we. I shall fit my invitations to
this end, and the bald and hoary will have the chance
of the lame, the halt, and the blind in the parable. If
it should be a dinner, it won't matter, but if a supper, be
sure and forget your night-key and then you won't have
any anxiety, nor Mrs. Fields either. Of course, I shall
have an account of the affair in the papers with a list of
the gifts (especially in money) and the names of all who
donate. You will understand by what I have said that it
is to be one of those delightful things they call a "sur-
prise party," and I expect to live on it for a year — one
friend for every month.
A week later, in the course of a letter accepting the
invitation of Mr. and Mrs. Fields for Lowell's daughter
to accompany them to Europe, he wrote: "Do you see
that is to commence his autobiography in 'Put-
nam's Magazine ' ? At least, I take it for granted from
the title — The Ass in Life and Literature ? If sincerely
done, it will be interesting."
For all the transcendentalism of the circle to which
Mrs. Fields bore so intimate a relation, there emanated
114 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
from Lowell and others an atmosphere of sincerity which
helped to preserve the equilibrium of the more easily
swayed. Mrs. Fields herself was not immune to the
appeal of some of the "isms" of the time and place, but
an entry in her journal for January i8, 1870, shows her
in no great peril of being swept away by them : —
Attended yesterday a meeting of what is called the
Radical Club. Mr. Channing spoke, Mr. Higginson,
Wendell Phillips, Mrs. Howe, Mrs. Lucy Stone, Mr.
Bartol, Wasson, J. F. Clarke, Edna Cheney. Mr. Whit-
tier was present and a room full of "come-outers." Mr.
Channing and Mr. Phillips were reverent, though I
think Mr. Phillips more definite, and perhaps conse-
quently more conservative, in what he said. Certainly
Mr. Phillips's speech was highly satisfactory. On the
whole there was much vague talk and restless expression
of self without any high end being furthered. I thought
much of Mr. Higginson's talk and Mr. Wasson's irrev-
erent answer were untrue. Perhaps I am wrong in say-
ing no good end is attained by such a meeting. Perhaps
a closer understanding of what we do believe is the re-
sult. But there is much unpleasant in the unnatural and
excited view of the inside ring.'
There was, moreover, a constant corrective at hand
in the persons of the local wits, among whom Long-
* After an evening of high discussion at Mrs. Howe's in an cirlicr year,
Mrs. F'iclds wrote in her journal (October 4, 1863) : "The talk grew deep,
and after it was over, she (Mrs. Howe] recalled the saying of Mrs. Bell,
after a like evening, when she called for 'a fat idiot.'"
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 115
fellow's brother-in-law, Thomas Gold ("Tom") Apple-
ton, was of the most clear-sighted. His definition of
Nahant as "cold roast Boston," and his prescription
for tempering the gales on a particularly windy Boston
corner by tethering a shorn lamb there, have secured
him something more than a local survival. He fre-
quently left his mark on the pages of Mrs. Fields's
diary — once venturing seriously into prophecy on
the spiritual future of Boston, in terms which will seem,
at least, in partibus infidelium, to have received a cer-
tain confirmation at the hands of time. In the diary
the following entry is found : —
Sunday^ November 6, 1870. — Appleton (Tom, as the
world calls him) came in soon after breakfast Sunday
morning. He talked very wisely and brilliantly upon
Art, its value and purpose to the state, the necessity
for the Museum. He said our people were far more lit-
erary than artistic. The sensuous side of their nature
was undeveloped. The richness of color, the glory of
form, was less to them than something which could set
the sharp edge of their intellect in motion. "Besides,
what is Boston going to do," he said, "when these fel-
lows die who give it its honor now, Longfellow, Holmes,
and the rest ? They can't live forever, and with them
its glory will depart without it is sustained by a founda-
tion for art in other directions. Harvard University will
do something to keep it up, but not much, and unless a
distinct effort be made now, Boston will lose its place
and go behind." He became much excited by the lack
ii6 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
of appreciation for William Story in Boston, and the
abuse of the Everett statue, which he considers good
in its way and as marking the highest point in Everett's
oratorical fame, that is, when he lifted his hand to
indicate the stars in his address at Albany, and set his
fame some points nearer the luminaries which inspired
him, by his fine eloquence.
He said a merchant told him one day that he did n't
like Story's portrait statues, but his ideal work he was
delighted with. "You lie !" I said to him. "The beauti-
ful Shepherd-Boy which I helped to buy and bring to
Boston you know nothing of — you can't tell me now
in which corner of the Public Library it is hidden away.
I tell you, you lie!"
He spoke of the Saturday Club, and said that, al-
though he s(imetimes smiled at Holmes's enthusiasm
over it, he believed in the main he was quite right, and
it would be remembered in future as Johnson's Club has
been, and recorded and talked of in the same way.
Unfortunately I don't see their Boswell. I wish I could
believe there was a single chicl amang them takin' notes.'
On December I4, 1870, the diary recorded a dinner
at which Longfellow, Osgood, Aldrich, Holmes, Dana,
Howells, Lowell, and Bayard Taylor were the guests.
It celebrated the completion of Taylor's translation of
" Faust." Of the talk of Lowell and Longfellow, Mrs.
Fields wrote : —
' If Mrs. Fields had lived to sec The Early Yean of the Saturday Cluh
(Boston, KyiS), she would have found that I drew from the notes in her own
diary a large portion of the memoir of James T. Fields which it contains.
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 117
Before dinner I found opportunity for a short talk
with Lowell upon literature. He thinks the chief value
of Bret Harte is his local color and it would be a fatal
mistake for him to come East, in spite of Taylor's rep-
resentation of the aridity of intellectual life now in
California. Taylor finds the same reason for leaving his
native place. He regrets his large house, and frankly
says he is tired of living there, tired of living alone, there
being really no one in the vicinity with whom he can
associate as on equal grounds. There is no culture, not
even a love for it, in the neighborhood.
But I have not said half enough of Longfellow. He
scintillated all the evening, was filled with the spirit of
the time and the scene, sweetly reprimanded Taylor
for not having time to give him a visit also, darted his
jcux d' esprit rapidly right and left, often setting the
table in a roar, a most unusual thing with him. Holmes
at the other end was talking about the natural philos-
ophers who "invented facts." Lowell took exception,
said it was an impossible juxtaposition of ideas and
words. Holmes defended himself by quoting (I think
the name was Carius ; whoever it was, Lowell said at
once and rather warningly, he is a very distinguished
name) a series of created facts by which he said a
woman was not articulated or not as a man is (perhaps
I have not his exact ideas) ; whereat Longfellow at once
held up the inarticulate woman to the amusement of
the table. Then they began to talk of the singular per-
sons this world contains, "quite as strange as Dickens,"
as they always say; and Taylor, who introduced the
ii8 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
subject, proceeded to relate an incident which happened
to him in a cheap coffee house in New York. It was
near a railway station, so he dropped in, finding it con-
venient so to do, at an hour not usually popular with
the frequenters of such establishments. It was empty
save for an extraordinary figure with long arms, short
legs and misshapen body, who, hearing a glass of ale
ordered, came forward and said if he pleased he would
like to have his ale at the same table for the sake of
company. There was nothing to do but to comply,
which Taylor of course did, whereupon the strange
creature, never asking who Taylor was, went on to
relate that he was the great man-monkey of the world
who could hang from a tree and eat nuts and make the
true noise in the throat better than any other; he had
no competitor except one of the Ravel brothers, but
he (Ravel) was not the real thing; he himself alone
could make the noise perfectly. . . .
They all drank the exquisite Ehrbacher Rhine wine
from tall green German glasses of antique form, which
delighted them greatly. Jamie was much entertained by
Holmes's finding them "good conversational aperient,
but ugly. I should always have them on the table, but
they are not handsome." I^ngfellow was delighted with
my Venetian lace bodice; it seemed to have a flavor of
Venice about it in his eyes. It was a real pleasure to
me to see his appreciation of a thing Jamie and I really
enjoy so much.
I have not reported all, by any means, but time fails
me now. A thought of Dickens was continually present.
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 119
as it must be forever at a company dinner-table. How-
many beautiful feasts have I enjoyed by his side !
There is none like him, none.
Taylor wrote a friendly German inscription in his
book and presented me after dinner.
There were amusing traits of Elizabeth Peabody
given. Longfellow remembered that the first time he
met her was in a carriage. She was taken up in the
dark. Hearing his name mentioned, she leaned forward
and said, "Mr. Longfellow, can you tell me which is
the best Chinese Grammar ? "
A midsummer entry of the same year suggests the
part that an editor's wife may play in the successful
conduct of a magazine, if only through sharing the en-
thusiasm that attends the first reading of a manuscript
of distinguished merit.
Saturday, July 16, 1870. — A perfect summer day.
Jamie did not go to town, but with a bag full of letters
and MSS. concluded to remain here. He fell first upon
a MS. by Henry James, Jr., a short story called "Com-
pagnons de Voyage," and after tasting of it in our room
and finding the quality good (though the handwriting
was execrable), I invited my dear boy to a favorite
nook in the pasture where we could hear the sea and
catch a distant gleam of its blue face while we were still
in shadow and fanned by oak leaves. It was one of
those delicious seasons which summer can bring to the
dullest heart, I believe and hope. We lay down with
I20 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
our feet plunged into the cool delicious grass, while I
read the pleasant tale of Italy to the close. I do not
know why success in work should affect us so power-
fully, but I could have wept as I finished reading, not
from the sweet low pathos of the tale, which was not
tearful, but from the knowledge of the writer's success.
It is so difficult to do anything well in this mysterious
world.
On the very next day Lowell wrote Fields a letter
which must have been read with delight by such friends
of Dickens as the Fieldses. The decorated sonnet which
filled its third sheet is reproduced herewith in facsimile:
the plainness of Lowell's script renders type superflu-
ous. The mere fact that the death of Dickens could
have called forth clerical expressions provoking Lowell
to such scorn is in itself a measure of the distance we
have travelled since 1870. The verses are not included
in Lowell's "Poetical Works," nor are they listed in the
"Hibliography of James Russell Lowell," compiled by
George Willis Cooke. With two slight changes they
may be found, however, over Lowell's signature, in
"Every Saturday," for August 6, 1870.
Ei-Mwoon, 17M July, iS-jo
My dear Fields : —
I can stand it no longer ! If Dickens is to be banned,
the rest of us might as well fling up our hands. This
hot weather, too, gives a foretaste that raises well-
founded apprehension. It is a good primary school for
ll/n ^^ fc^ ^^^^ (f ^^^ ^ flc^ a^ K^ ^
i
P
Facsimile of Lowell's " Bulldog and Terrier" sonnet
122 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
the Institution of which the Rev'ds Fulton and Dunn
seem to be ushers. Instead of going to Church today,
where I might have heard something not wholly to my
advantage, as the advertisements for lost people say,
I have written a sermon. It is not a proper sonnet, but
a cross between that and epigram — a kind of bull-ter-
rier, in short, with the size of the one and the prick-ears
and docked tail of the other, nor without his special tal-
ent for rats. Is there any grip in his jaw or no ? He is
good-natured and scarce shows his teeth.
The thing is an improvisation and the weather aw-
fully hot !
Sweltered your servant sits and sweats and swears :
(for alliteration only) but if you would like it for the
"Atlantic," why here it is on the next leaf. Or, if too
late, why not "Every Saturday"? I could not even
think of it sooner, for I have been wrestling with a bad
head and an article on Chaucer, and I fear they have
thrown me. I want rest, and a bath of poetry, but where
may the wicked hope for either? My sonnet (if Leigh
Hunt would let me call it so) hit me like a stray shot
from ncnvhere that I could divine, and five minutes saw
it finished. So why may it not be good ? It came, any-
how, as a poem comes — though it is n't just that. But
my dog is n't bad ? He is from the life at any rate.
I shall make use of my first leisure to get into Boston.
Hut I have got bedevilled with the text of Chaucer and
am working on it with my usual phrenzy — thirteen
hours, for example, yesterday, collating texts and writ-
ing into margins, I comfort myself that my Chaucer
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 123
will bring a handsome price at my vmidoo ! I shall be
easier in my coffin if it run up handsomely for Fanny
and Mabel.
Do you want an essay for your "Almanac" if one
should come, which is doubtful ? I need one or two
more to make a little volume, and I need a little volume
for nameless reasons. O, if I could sell my land I I
would transmute that gold into poetry. Or if only
poems would come when you whistle for 'em !
Give my kindest regards to Mrs Fields.
Yours always,
J. R. L.
From my study, this first day for three weeks without
a drowsy pain in my knowledge box, I really feel a little
lively, and wonder at myself. But don't be alarmed —
it won't last, any more than money does, or principle
in a poHtician, or hair, or popular favor — or paper.
Lowell and Longfellow continue to make their appear-
ances in Mrs. Fields's diary.
December 7, 1871. — Last Sunday Charlotte Cush-
man dined here. Our guests asked to meet her were
Mr. and Mrs. Lowell and Mr. Longfellow; Miss Steb-
bins and Miss Chapman, her guests, also came. We
had a lovely social time, Lowell making himself espe-
cially interesting, as he always does when he can once
work himself up to the pitch of going out at all. He
talked a while with me about poetry and his own topics
after dinner. He said he was one of the few people who
124 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
believed in absolute truth; that he always looked for
certain qualities in writers, which if he could not dis-
cover, they no longer interested him and he did not
care to read them. He discovered, for instance, in the
writers who had survived the centuries the same kin-
dred points, those points he studied until he discovered
what the adamant was and where it was founded; then
he would look into the writers of our own age to see if
he could find the same stuff; there was little enough
of it unfortunately. He does not like Reynolds's por-
trait of Johnson, thought it untrue, far too handsome,
yet highly characteristic in the management of the
hands, which portray the man as he was when talking
better probably than anything ever did. Mrs. Lowell
appeared to enjoy herself. J. says L. is always more
himself if Mrs. L. is happy and talkative. They are
thinking of Europe. Mabel is to be married in April,
and afterward they probably go at once to Europe.
A small party of friends assembled in the evening.
Longfellow was the beloved and observed and wor-
shlppctl among all.
ylpril 1 1, 1872. — Last night Jamie dined with Long-
fellow. John Field of Pennsylvania and Lowell were the
two other guests. J. was there twenty minutes before
the rest arrived, and Longfellow gave him an account of
the wedding of a school-mate of mine, , an
excellent generous-hearted, generously built woman,
with a little limping old clergyman who has already had
three wives and whose first name is . Longfellow
said, in memory of what had gone before, the organist.
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW
From a photograph taken in middle life
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 125
as if driven by some evil spirit, played "Auld Lang
Syne," as the wedding procession came in, consisting of
the bride and her brother, two very well-made large
persons and the elderly bridegroom limping on behind
all alone. The organist suddenly stopped at this point,
breaking off with a queer little quirk and shiver as if
he only then discovered what he was doing. Indeed
the whole wedding appeared to have points to affect
the risibles of the poet. He could hardly speak of it
without laughter. He said, moreover, that it was, he
thought, disgusting and outrageous for old men to get
married.
Tuesday, September 23, 1872. — Longfellow came to
town to see Jamie, in one of his loveliest moods. The
day was so warm and fine, such a day of dreams, that he
proposed to him every kind of excursion. "Come," he
said, "let us go to the tea stores and smell the tea; the
warm atmosphere will bring out all the odors and we can
get samples!" And again, "Come, let us go to the
wharves and see the vessels just in from Italy or Spain.
It will be a lovely sight in this soft sky, and we can hear
the men speak in their native tongues." Unhappily all
these seductions were in vain, for Jamie was busy and
was to lecture in Grantville in the evening. L. said :
"At half-past eight I shall think of you doing thus and
thus" (sawing the air with his arms). L. continued:
"You know I have very strange people come to me — a
man came a day or two ago by the name of Hyers, who
has just published a book describing his own career.
He believes that he is fed by the Lord ! *How do you
126 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
mean?' asked I, with the knowledge that we "were all
fed in the same way. 'Why,' said H., 'He leaves pies
and peanuts on the sidewalks for w^. '" Longfellow could
hardly contain himself — but "after all," he said, "that
is very like Greene : when Greene comes to me, he always
takes his money to come and go, just like my own sons
and without so much as a thank you. But I like to have
Greene come because he enjoys it so much and it is so
strange. He amuses me. Then Appleton too, with his
odd fancies, it would be hard to find a stranger man than
he. He amused me immensely the other day by fancy-
ing an Indian, 'Great Fire,' or 'Hole in the Wall,' or
some such fellow, coming to Boston for the first time.
Passing a perruquier's, he sees the window filled with
masses of false hair; taking them to be scalps and the
window to be an exhibition of these tokens of prowess,
he rushes in, embraces the little pcrruquier behind the
counter, treats him like a brother, and almost frightens
the small hairdresser out of his senses ! !"
L. likes Joaquin [Miller] much. Of course, he said,
there are some things about him not altogether agree-
able, such as flinging a quid of tobacco out of his mouth
under the table; "but I don't mind those things; per-
haps," he added, "perhaps I might have done the same
as a youth of 20! ! !"
Thursday y June i 2, 1873. — Dined last night with the
Aldriches and Mr. Bugbce at Mr. Lowell's beautiful old
Elm wood. ^ It was a perfect night, cool, fresh, moon-
' This was in the midst of Aldrich's occupancy of PMmwood, (Juring Lowell's
two years' absence in Europe.
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 127
lighted, after a muggy day of heat. After dinner I went
into the fine old study with Aldrich, where he showed me
two or three Httle poems he has lately written. He was
all ready to talk on literary topics and much in earnest
about his own satisfaction over "Miss Mehitable's Son"
(which is indeed a very good story), and was full of dis-
gust over the " Nation's " cool dismissal of it. It was too
bad; but that Dennet of the "Nation" is beneath con-
tempt because of the slights he throws upon good liter-
ary work. Aldrich says he found "Asphodel" all worn
to pieces, read and reread in the upstairs study. He
finds Mr. Lowell's library in curious disorder with re-
spect to modern books. He is an easy lender and an
easy borrower. The result is, everything is at loose ends.
Only two volumes of Hawthorne can be found, for in-
stance. . . .
Such wonderful colors overspread our bay this eve-
ning, the wide heavens, and all that lay between. It
seemed an unreal and magic glory, and I recall dimly
Hawthorne's disgust when he endeavored to describe
a landscape. The Lord, he says, expressed himself in
this glory; how shall we therefore interpret into lan-
guage when he himself has taken this form of speech as
the only adequate expression to convey his meaning to
us ? Who does not feel this in looking at the glories of
Nature in this perfect season ?
And here is a final glimpse of Longfellow, at Man-
chester-by-the-Sea, shortly after Don Pedro of Brazil
had visited him in Cambridge: —
128 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
Thursday y July 6, 1876. — A fine rushing wind — no
rain, but a wind that seemed to tear everything up by
the roots. I dared not venture out in the morning. To
our surprise and delight Mr. Longfellow came to dine.
He was pleased to find Anna here, and fell to talking of
Heidelberg in German with her and quoting the poets
most delightfully. We sat in the front hall and rejoiced
over his presence as he talked, for he was in a fine talk-
ing mood. He told us of the Emperor's visit and of his
soldierly though most simple bearing ; how he came to
call upon him after his dinner, and when, as he rose to
go, Longfellow said, "Your Majesty, I thank you for
the honor you have done me." He said, "Ah ! no, Long-
fellow, none of your nonsense, let us be friends together.
I hope you will write to me. I will write you first and
you must promise to answer." As they walked down the
garden path together, Longfellow raised his hat and
stepped one side as he was about to get into his car-
riage. "No, no," he said laughingly, "there you are
at it again." In short, he has left a pleasant memory
behind.
Longfellow told us his maids broke everything he
possessed; at last they had broken a very beautiful
Japanese vase or bowl which Charley brought home —
so he had made a Latin epitaph for the maid. Unhap-
pily I recall only the last line : —
Nihil letigit quod non Jre^it.
He described Blumenbach very amusingly, whose
lectures on Natural History he attended as a youth in
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 129
Heidelberg. He descended from his desk one day and
came and rested his hand on the rail just before which L.
was seated. He had been speaking of Platonic love.
"Und die Platonische Liebe ist nach Amerika gegan-
gen," he said, looking at Longfellow. The whole stu-
dent audience roared and applauded.
He was in the loveliest spirits and manners. His
friendly ways to my three friendless girls were not only
such as to excite them profoundly, but there was sin-
cere feeling in his invitation to them to call upon him
and in his questions in their behalf.
The wind subsided as we sat together ; the two young
Bigelows sang "Maid of Athens" and one or two other
songs, and then he departed. How sorry we were as we
watched his retreating figure, as he and dear J. wound
down the hill in the little phaeton.
Mrs. Fields's gallery of friends would be incomplete
without a single sketch of Whit tier's familiar outline.
Out of many which the diaries contain, one may best
be taken, for it shows him in company with that other
friend, Celia Thaxter, whom also Mrs. Fields counted
among the few to whose memory she devoted special
chapters in her "Authors and Friends"; and it brings
the three together at Mrs. Thaxter's native Isles of
Shoals, so long a mecca of the "like-minded."
July 12, 1873. — I shall not soon forget our talk one
afternoon in the parlor at "The Shoals." Whittier, as if
inspired by that spirit residing in us which is the very
ijo MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
ground-work of the Quaker belief, began to speak of
Emerson's faith and of the pain it gave him to see the
name of Jesus placed in his writings as but one among
many. When he discoursed with Emerson of these
things, he could have no satisfaction. Celia, on the other
From a note oj "Dear If'httticr " to Mrs. I'icUs
hand, said she did not understand these things ; she
never prayed. "I am sure thee does without knowing
it," said W. ; "else what do thy poems mean ? Thee has
not set prayer perhaps, but some kind of a prayer thee
must have. No human being can exist without it. But
what troubles me also in Emerson is that I can find no
real faith in immortality." Here I took up the question.
I had heard Mr. Emerson at Thoreau's grave, after-
ward speaking expressly on immortality, and in both
discourses I felt deeply his faith in our future progress
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 131
and enduring life. Whittier was inclined to think me
mistaken. I think too that his use of Jesus' name is to
prevent the worship of him instead of the One God.
Whittier asked Celia to read a discourse of Emerson's,
which she did aloud ; and again he spoke of the beauty
of childlike worship, the necessity for it in our natures,
and quoted some lovely hymns. His whole heart was
alive and poured out toward us as if he longed tenderly
like the prophet of old to breathe a new life into us. I
could seem to see that he reproached himself that so
many days had passed without his trying to speak more
seri6usly. He was not perfectly well after this — a
headache overtook him before our talk was over and
did not leave him until he found himself in Amesbury
again. I trust it did so there. . . .
Whittier said one day, when we were talking of the
"Life of Charlotte Bronte" by Mrs. Gaskell, and I was
saying how sad it was she should have made the old man,
her father, suffer unto death, as she did, by telling the
tale of his bad son's life, and "still worse," I said, "she
came out in the Athenaeum and declared that her story
was false, when she knew it was true, hoping to comfort
the old man," — "I don't know," said Whittier; "I
am inclined to think that was the best part of it, if her
lie would have done the old man any good !"
After we had our long afternoon session of talk over
Emerson and future existence and the unknowable,
Celia stood up and stretched herself and said, "How
good it has been with the little song-sparrow putting in
his oar above it all!"
132 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
And what of Mrs. Fields herself, a woman of nearly
forty when this last passage was written ? For the most
part the diary reveals her but indirectly. Yet in the
midst of all her pictures of her friends, a fragment of
self-portraiture is occasionally found; and to one of
them the reader of these pages is entitled.
cc<n-£^
■i^nf^^^
^-
-o
Proposed Dedication of H'hitlier's " .imoiig ihe Hills" to Afrs. Fields.
In a letter to Mrs. Fields, IVhittier wrote: " I would like ihy judgment
about it. It 'ould this do?'* In altered form it appears in the book.
December i8, 1873. — Have been looking over "VVil-
hclm Mcister"! I struck upon that marvellous pas-
sage, " I reverence the individual who understands dis-
tinctly what he wishes ; who un weariedly advances ; who
knows the means conducive to his object, and can seize
and use them. How far his object may be great or
little is the next consideration with me"; and much
CONCORD AND CAMBRIDGE 133
more quite as good to the same end. It prompts me
to say what I wish to do in life.
Aristotle writes : "Virtue is concerned with action, art
with production." The problem of life is how to harmon-
ize the two — either career must he.come prominent accord-
ing to the nature of the individual. I discern in myself:
1st, the desire to serve others unselfishly according to the
example of our dear Lord ; 2nd, the desire to cultivate
my powers in order to achieve the highest life possible
to me as an individual existence by stimulating thought
to its finest issues through reflection, observation, and by
profound and ceaseless study of the written thoughts of
the wisest in every age and every clime.
To fulfil these aims we must be able to answer the
simple question promptly to ourselves: "What then
shall I do tomorrow and today?" Then, the decision
being made, the thing alone must have all the earnest-
ness put into it of a creature who knows that the next
moment he may be called to his account.
As a woman and a wife' my first duty lies at home;
to make that beautiful ; to stimulate the lives of others
by exchange of ideas, and the repose pf domestic life ;
to educate children and servants.
2nd, To be conversant with the very poor; to visit
their homes ; to be keenly alive to their sufferings ;
never allowing the thought of their necessities to sleep
in our hearts.
3rd, By day and night, morning and evening. In
all times and seasons when strength is left to us, to
study, study, study.
134 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
Because I have put this last, it does not stand last
in Importance; but to put it first and write out the plan
for study which my mind naturally selects would be to
ignore that example of perfect life in which I humbly
believe, and to return to the lives of the ancients, so fine
in their results to the few, so costly to the many. But
in the removed periods of existence, when solitude may
be our blessed portion, what a joy to fly to communion
with the sages and live and love with them !
I have written this out for the pleasure of seeing
if "I distinctly understand what I wish." It is a wide
plan, too wide, I fear, for much performance, but there-
fore pcrhap«; m(jrc conducive to a constant faith.
WITH DICKENS IN AMERICA'
When Mrs. Fields wrote the "Personal Recollec-
tions" of Oliver Wendell Holmes which appear in her
"Authors and Friends," she quoted, with a few changes
prompted by modesty, this passage from a letter re-
ceived from him at Christmas, 1881 : "Except a few of
my immediate family connections, no friends have seen
me so often as a guest as did you and your husband.
Under your roof I have met more visitors to be remem-
bered than under any other. But for your hospitality
I should never have had the privilege of personal ac-
quaintance with famous writers and artists whom I
can now recall as I saw them, talked with them, heard
them in that pleasant library, that most lively and
agreeable dining-room. How could it be otherwise with
such guests as he entertained with his own unflagging
vivacity and his admirable social gifts ?"
One of the visitors thus encountered by Dr. Holmes
was Charles Dickens. Here was a guest after the host's
own heart — and the hostess's. The host stood alone
among publishers as a friend of the authors with whom
it was his business to deal. Out of them all there was
none with whom he came to stand on terms of closer
sympathy and friendship than with Dickens. They had
^ The greater part of this chapter appeared in Harper's Magazine for May
and June, 1922.
1 16 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
first met when Dickens came to America in 1842, and
Fields was by no means the conspicuous figure he was
to become. When he visited Europe in 1859-60, with
his young wife, whose personality was to contribute its
own beauty and charm to the hospitality of I48 Charles
Street for many years to come, they dined with Dickens
in London, visited him at Gad's Hill, and had much dis-
cussion of a plan, which Fields had been urging upon
him in correspondence, for Dickens to come to America
for a course of readings. As early as in one of the letters
of this time, Dickens wrote to Fields: "Here I forever
renounce 'Mr.' as having anything whatever to do with
our communication, and as being a mere preposterous
interloper." From such beginnings grew the intimacy
which caused Dickens, when he drew up the humorous
terms of a walking-match between Dolby, his manager,
and Osgood, Fields's partner, while the Boston readings
of 1868 were in progress, to define Fields as "Massa-
chusetts Jemmy" and himself as the "Gad's Hill
Gasper" by virtue of his "surprising performances
(without the least variation) on that true national in-
strument, the American catarrh."
The visits of Dickens to America, first in 1842, then
in the winter of 1867-68, have been the subject of abun-
dant chronicle. For the first of them thtre is the direct
record of his "American Notes," besides those indirect
reflections in "Martin Chuzzlewit," which wrought an
efl^ect described by Carlylc in the characteristic saying
that "all Yankee-doodledom blazed up like one uni-
versal soda bottle." Many memorials of the second
CHARLES DICKENS
From a portrait by Francis Alexander, for many years in the Fields house,
the Boston Museum of Fine Arts
WITH DICKENS IN AMERICA 137
visit are preserved in Fields's "Yesterdays with
Authors," and in John Forster's "Life" both visits are
of course recorded.
There is, besides, one source of intimate record of
Dickens in America which hitherto has remained almost
untouched.^ This is found in the diaries of Mrs. Fields,
filled, as the preceding pages have shown, not merely
with her own sympathetic observations, but with many
things reported to her by her husband. To him it was
largely due that Dickens crossed the Atlantic near the
end of 1867. Landing in Boston, and soon beginning
his extraordinarily popular readings, he found in the
Charles Street house of the Fieldses a second home.
"Steadily refusing all invitations to go out during the
weeks he was reading," wrote Fields in his "Yesterdays
with Authors," " he went only into one other house be-
sides the Parker, habitually, during his stay in Boston."
In that house Mrs. Fields wrote the diaries from which
the following passages are taken. There Dickens was
not merely a warmly welcomed friend and guest at
dinner, but for a time an inmate. Henry James, sum-
moning after Mrs. Fields's death his remembrances of
her and of her abode, found in it "certain fine vibra-
tions and dying echoes" of all the episode of Dickens's
second visit. "I liked to think of the house," he wrote,
"I couldn't do without thinking of it, as the great
man's safest harborage through the tremendous gale
* A few passages from it, relating to Dickens, are included in James T.
Fields: Biographical Notes and Personal Sketches. When they are occa-
sionally repeated here, it is in their original form, and not as Mrs. Fields
edited them for publication.
138 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
of those even more leave-taking appearances, as fate
was to appoint, than we then understood."
In Dickens's state of physical health while the
Fieldses were thus seeing him, lay the only token of an
end not far off. All else was gayety and delight. The
uncontrollable laughter — where does one hear quite
parallel notes to-day? — - the simplicities of game and
anecdote, the enthusiastic yielding of complete admira-
tion, the glimpses of august figures of an earlier time
— all these serve equally to take one back over more
than half a century, into a state of society about which
an element of myth begins to form, and to bring out of
tliut past the living, human figure of Dickens himself.
For the most part these extracts from the diaries
call for no explanations.
Several months before the great visitor's arrival his
coming was heralded by his business agent, of whom
Mrs. Fields wrote : —
August I4, 1867. — Mr. Dolby arrived today from
England (Mr. Dickens's agent), a good, healthy, kindly
natured man of whom Dickens seems really fond, hav-
ing followed him to the steamer in Liverpool from Lon-
don to see that all things were comfortably arranged
for him. He says Dickens has lamed one of his feet
with too much walking of late. He is here to arrange for
100 nights, for which he hears he may receive ^200,000;
the readings to begin the first of December and to be
chiefly given in New York City.
August 15, 1867. — Our day was quiet enough, but
WITH DICKENS IN AMERICA 139
when J. came down, he held us quite spellbound and
magnetized all the evening with his account of Dickens,
which Mr. Dolby had given him. He says Dolby him-
self is a queer creature when he talks. He has a stutter
which leads him to become suddenly stately in the
middle of a homely phrase and to give a queer intona-
tion to his voice, so that he did not dare look at Osgood
(who was a listener also) lest they should both explode
with laughter.
Dickens now has five dogs ; for these the cook pre-
pares daily five plates of dinner. One day the plates
were all ready when a small pup stole in and polished
off the five plates. He fainted away immediately, and in
this condition was discovered by the cook, who put
him under the pump and revived him ; but he had been
going about looking like the figure 8 ever since.
Dickens is a warm friend of Fechter. One day, return-
ing from a reading tour, his man met him at the sta-
tion saying, "The fifty-eight boxes have come, sir."
"What?" said Mr. Dickens. "The fifty-eight boxes
have come, sir." "I know nothing of fifty-eight boxes,"
said the other. "Well, sir," said the man, "they are
all piled up outside the gate and we shall soon see, sir."
They proved to be a Swiss chalet complete, handles,
blinds, not a bit wanting, which Fechter had sent him.
It is put up in a grove near the house, where it presents
a very picturesque effect.
Dickens allows nothing to escape his attention and
gives "one small corner of the white of one eye" to
his household concerns, though he seems not to observe.
I40 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
His daughter Mary has the governance of the servants,
Miss Hogarth of the cellar and provisions. There is a
system in everything with which he has to do. When
he gives a reading, he is present in the hall at half-past
six, although the reading does not begin until eight ; for
Dickens cannot go about as other people do, he must go
when the people do not press upon him. On reaching
the private room, his servant brings his evening dress,
reading desk, screen, lamps, when he arranges the hall,
examines the copper gas-tubes to see if in order, dresses
himself and is ready to begin. In Liverpool the other
night he had advertised to read "Sergeant Buzfuz,"
instead of which by accident he read "Bleak House."
Mr. Dolby spoke to him as soon as he had finished,
telling him the mistake he had made. He at once re-
turned to the desk, and said, "My friends, it is half-
past ten o'clock and you see how tired I am, but I will
still read Sergeant Buzfuz's speech if you expect it."
"No, no," the crowd shouted; "you 're tired. No, no,
this ought to do for tonight." One tall man raised himself
up in the gallery and said, "Look here, we came to hear
Pickwick and we ought tohef it." "Very well, my friend,"
replied Dickens, immediately, "I will read Sergeant
Buzfuz for your accommodation solely" ; and thereat he
did read it to a breathless and delighted audience.
At length came Dickens himself, am.! the diary takes
up the tale ; —
November i8, 1867. — Today the steamer is tele-
■THE rAO CHARLES'S" (CHARLES DICKENS AND CHARLES FECHTER).
Fram a HumargMi Drawing by .\L7BSd Bbvan. 1879
DICKENS AND FECHTER
WITH DICKENS IN AMERICA 141
graphed with Dickens on board, and the tickets for his
readings have been sold. Such a rush ! A long queue
of people have been standing all day in the street — a
good-humored crowd, but a weary one.^ The weather is
clear but really cold, with winter's pinch in it.
November 19. — ... Yesterday I adorned Mr.
Dickens's room with flowers, which seemed to please
him. He was in the best of good spirits with every-
thing.
Thursday^ November 21. — Mr. Dickens dined here.
Agassiz, Emerson, Judge Hoar, Professor Holmes, Nor-
ton, Greene, dear Longfellow, last not least, came to
welcome. Dickens sat on my right, Agassiz at my left.
I never saw Agassiz so full of fun. . . .
Dickens bubbled over with fun, and I could not help
fancying that Holmes bored him a little by talking at
him. I was sorry for this, because Holmes is so simple
and lovely, but Dickens is sensitive, very. He is fond
of Carlyle, seems to love nobody better, and gave the
most irresistible imitation of him. His queer turns of
expression often convulsed us with laughter, and yet
it is difiicult to catch them, as when, in speaking ot
the writer of books, always putting himself, his real
self, in, "which is always the case," he said; *'but
you must be careful of not taking him for his next-door
neighbor."
^ On this very day Lowell wrote in the course of a letter to Fields : "James
tells me you had a tremendous queue this morning. Don't fail to get me
tickets, and for the first night. I should like to see his reception. It will
leave a picture on the brain. And why should I not be there to welcome him,
as well as Tom, Dick, or Harry ?"
14:1 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
He spoke of the fineness of his Parisian audience —
"the most delicately appreciative of all audiences."
He also gave a most ludicrous account of a seasick
curate trying to read the service on board ship last
Sunday. He tells us Browning is really about to marry
Miss Ingelow, and of Carlyle, that he is deeply sad-
dened, irretrievably, by the death of his wife. Just as
we were in a tempest of laughter over some witticism
of his, he jumped up, seized me by the hand, and said
good-night. He neither smoked nor drank. "I never
do either from the time my readings 'set in,'" he said,
as if it were a rainy season. . . .
Among other interesting personal facts Dickens told
us that he had last year burned all his private letters.
An appeal from the daughter of Sydney Smith for some
of his letters set him thinking on the subject, and one
day when there was a big fire — [sentence unfinished].
Mr. Dickens left the table just as we were in a tem-
pest of laughter. Dr. Holmes. . . was telling how inap-
preciative he had found some country audiences — one
he remembered in especial when his landlady accom-
panied him to the lecture and her face, he observed, was
the only one which rchixctl its grimness ! "Probably
because she saw money enough in the house to cover
your expenses," rejoined Dickens. That was enough;
the laughter was prodigious. . . .
Jfednesday, November 27. — What a pity that these
days have flown while I have been unable to make any
record of them. J. has been to walk each day with
Dickens, and has come home full of wonderful things he
WITH DICKENS IN AMERICA 143
has said.^ His variety is so inexhaustible that one can
only listen in wonder.
Thursday, :l^, — Thanksgiving Day. J. took Dick-
ens to see the Aldriches' house. He was very much
amused by what he saw there and has written out a full
account to his daughter, Mrs. Collins. . . .
I have made no record of our supper party of Wed-
nesday evening. We had Alfred to wait, and a pretty
supper and more important by far (tho' the first a con-
sequent of the last) a pretty company. There were Mr.
Dickens and Mr, Dolby, Helen Bell and Mrs. Silsbee,
Mr. and Mrs. Bigelow, Mr. Hillard and Louisa and Mr.
Beal. Mrs. Bell sang a little before supper ("Douglas"
for one) very gracefully with real feeling. At nine o'clock
oysters and fun began ; finally Mr. Dickens told several
ghost stories, but none of them more interesting than
a little bit of clairvoyance or what-you-will, which he
let drop concerning himself. He said a story was sent to
him for "All the Year Round," which he liked and ac-
cepted ; just after the matter had been put in type, he
received a letter from another person altogether from
the one who had forwarded it in the first place, saying
that he and not the first man was the author, and in
proof of his position he supplied a date which was want-
ing in the first paper. Curiously enough, Mr. Dickens,
seeing the story hinged upon a date and the date being
^ Even after Dickens's return to England, his sayings found their way into
Mrs. Fields's journal ; as, for example : —
"July 4, 1868. — J. made me laugh this morning (it was far too hot to
laugh) by telling me that Dickens said of Gray, the poet, 'No man ever
walked down to posterity with so small a book under his arm !'"
i44 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
but a blank in the MS., had supphed one, as it were by-
chance, and, behold ! /'/ was the same date which the new
man had sent.
Sunday. — Dined with Mr. Dickens at six o'clock.
Mr. and Mrs. Bigelow, Mr. Dolby and ourselves were
the only guests.
After dinner we played two or three games which I
will set down lest they should be forgotten.
Descriptions of "Buzz," "Russian Scandal," and
another wholly innocent amusement may be omitted.
Monday night, December 2, 1867. — The first great
reading! How we listened till we seemed turned into
one eyeball ! How we all loved him ! How we longed to
tell him all kinds of confidences ! How Jamie and he did
hug in the anteroom afterward ! What a teacher he
seemed to us of humanity as he read out his own words
which have enchanted us from childhood ! And what a
house it was ! Longfellow, Dana, Norton (Mrs. Dana,
Jr., and the three little Andrews went with us), and a
world of lovely faces and ardent admirers.
Tuesday came Miss Dodge and Mrs. Hawthorne,
Julian, and Rose. The reading was quite as remarkable,
tho' more quiet than that of the night before. As usual,
we went to speak to him at his request after it was over.
Found him in the best of spirits, but very tired. "You
can't think," he said, "what resolution it requires to
dress again after it is over!"
Monday, December 9. — Left home at 8 a.m. for
WITH DICKENS IN AMERICA 145
New York. The day was clear and cold, the journey
somewhat long, but on the whole extremely agreeable.
We only had each other to plague or amuse, as the case
might be, and we had the new Christmas story of Dick-
ens and Wilkie Collins (called "No Thoroughfare") to
read, and so by sufficient attention to the peculiarities
or follies or troubles of our neighbors and some forget-
fulness of our own, we came to the Westminster Hotel
at night, in capital spirits but rather frozen physically.
We had scant time to dress and dine and to go to the
Dickens reading. We accomplished it, nevertheless.
Saw the rapturous enthusiasm, heard the "Carol" far
better read than in Boston, because the applause was
more ready and he felt stimulated by it. Afterward Mr.
D. sent for us to come to his room. He was fatigued, of
course, but we sat at table with him and after a while he
began to feel warmer as vigor returned. He brought out
his jewels for us to see — a pearl Count D'Orsay once
wore, set with diamonds, etc. — laughed and talked
about the way we dress and other bits of nonsense sug-
gested by the time, all turned towards the fine light of
Charles Dickens's lovely soul and returning with a fresh
gleam of beauty. We left early lest we should overfatigue
him.
Wednesday^ December 11. — At four Dickens came to
dinner in our room with Eythinge and Anthony, his
American designer and engraver. Afterward we went
to the "Black Crook" together, and then home to the
hotel, where we sat talking until one o'clock. There is
nothing I should like so much to do as to set down every
146 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
word he said in that time, but much must go down to
oblivion. . . .
He talked of actors and acting — said if a man's
Hamlet was a sustained conception, it was not to be
quarrelled with ; the only question was, what a man of
melancholy temperament would do under such circum-
stances. Talked of Charles Reade and the greatness of
"Griffith Gaunt," and the pity of it that he did not
stand on his own bottom instead of getting in with Dion
Boucicault, etc., etc. But after dinner he unbent, and
while we were in the box at the theatre showed how true
his sympathies were with the actors, was especially care-
ful to make no sound which could hurt their feelings by
apparent want of attention. The play was very dull, so
we sat and talked. He told me that no ballet dancer
could have pretty feet, and one dreadful thing was they
could never wash them, as water renders the feet ten-
der and they must bccf)mc horny. He asked about
Longfellow's sorrow again and expressed the deepest
sympathy, but said he was like a man purified by suffer-
ing.
We had punch in our room after the play, when he
laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks over Bob
Sawyer's party and the remembrance of the laughter he
had seen depicted on the faces of people the night be-
fore. Jack Hopkins was such a favorite with J. that D.
made up the face again and went over the necklace story
until we roared aloud. At length he began to talk of
Fechter and to describe the sensitive character of the
man. He saw him first quite by accident in Paris, hav-
^6
/i4,^-
-^
^^a-i«^^y-»,^ C-.-?C.
Reduced facsimile of Dickens's directions, preserved among the
Fields papers, for the brewing of pleasant beverages
148 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
ing strolled into a little theatre there one night. He was
making love to a woman, and so elevated her as well as
himself by the sentiment in which he enveloped her that
they trod into purer ether and in another sphere quite
lifted out of the present. " ' By heavens ! ' I said, ' a man
who can do this can do anything!' I never saw two
people more purely and instantly elevated by the power
of love. The manner in which he presses the hem of the
dress of Lucy in the 'Bride of Lammermoor' is some-
thing surpassing speech and simply wonderful. The man
has a thread of genius in him which is unmistakable, yet
I should not call him a man of genius exactly, either."
Mr. Dickens described him as a man full of plans for
plays, one who had lost much money as a manager, too.
He was apt to come down to Gad's Hill with his head
full of plans about a play which he wished Mr. Dickens
to write out and which Fcchtcr would act in the writing-
room, using Mr. Dickens's small pillow for a baby in a
manner to make the latter feel, if Fechter were but a
writer, how marvellous his powers of representation
would be. " I, who for so many years have been study-
ing the best way of putting things, felt utterly amazed
and distanced by this man."
Before the end of our talk Mr. Dickens became pene-
trated by the memory of his friend and brought him
before us in all the warmth of ardent sympathy.
Fechter is sure to come to this country: we are sure to
have the happiness of knowing him (if we all live), and
in that event I shall consider last night as the begin-
ning of a new friendship.
WITH DICKENS IN AMERICA 149
Sunday y December 22. — Another week has gone.
We are again at home in our dear Httle nook by the
Charles, and tonight the lover of Christmas comes to
have dinner with us. We had a merry time last Sunday,
and after we had separated the hotel must needs take
fire — to be sure, I had been packing and was in my
first sleep and knew nothing distinctly of it ; but it was
an escape all the same and Mr. Dickens rushed out to
help, as he always seems to do. . . .
At night came Mr. Dickens and Mr. Dolby, Mr.
Lowell and Mabel, Mr. and Mrs. Dorr, to dinner. It
was really a beautiful Christmas festival, as we intended
it should be for the love of this new apostle of Christmas.
Mr. Dickens talked all the time, as he always will do,
generously, when the moment comes that he sees it is
expected, of Sir Sam. Baker, of Froude, of Fechter again,
this time as if he did not know the man, but spoke crit-
ically as if he were a stranger, seeing Lowell's face when
his name was mentioned, which inclined itself sneeringly.
We played games at table afterward, which turned
out so queerly that we had storms of laughter.
What a shame it is to write down anything respecting
one's contact with Charles Dickens and have it so slight
as my accounts are ; but the subtle turns of conversa-
tion are so difficult to render — the way in which he
represents the woman who will not on any account be
induced to look at him while he is reading, and at whom
he looks steadily, endeavoring to compel the eyes to
move — all these queer turns are too delicate to be set
down. I thought I should have had a convulsion of
ISO MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
laughter when Mrs. Dorr said Miss Laura Howe sat
down in her (Mrs. D.'s) room and wrote out a charade
in such an unparalleled and brilliant manner that no-
body could have outshone her — not even the present
company. "In the same given time, I trust ?" said Dick-
ens. "No, no," said the lady, persistently.
December 31. — The year goes out clear and cold.
The moon was marvellously bright last night, and every
time I woke there she was with her attendant star look-
ing freshly in upon us sleeping mortals in her eternal,
unwearied way. We received a letter from Charles
Dickens yesterday, saying he was coming to stay with
us when he returns. What a pleasure this will be to us!
We anticipate his coming with continual delight! To
have him as much as we can, at morning, noon, and
night.
This letter, long preserved in an American copy of
"A Christmas Carol" on the shelves of the Charles
Street library, throws a light of its own on the physical
handicaps with which Dickens was struggling thnnigh
all this time.
Westminster Hotel, New York.
Sunday^ Txisenty-Ninth Deamber, 1867
Mv DEAR Fields: —
When I come to Boston for the two readings of the
6th and 7th I shall be alone, as Dolby must be selling
elsewhere. If you and Mrs. Fields should have no other
visitor, I shall be very glad indeed on this occasion to
WITH DICKENS IN AMERICA 151
come to you. It is very likely that you may have some
one with you. Of course you will tell me so if you have,
and I will then reembellish the Parker House.
Since I left Boston last, I have been so miserable
that I have been obliged to call in a Dr. — Dr. Fordyce
Barker, a very agreeable fellow. He was strongly in-
clined to stop the Readings altogether for some few
days, but I pointed out to him how we stood committed,
and how I must go on if it could be done. My great ter-
ror was yesterday's Matinee, but it went off splendidly.
(A very heavy cold indeed, an irritated condition of the
uvula, and a restlessly low state of the nervous system,
were your friend's maladies. If I had not avoided vis-
iting, I think I should have been disabled for a week
or so.)
I hear from London that the general question in so-
ciety is, what will be blown up next by the Fenians.
With love to Mrs. Fields, Believe me.
Ever affectionately yours,
And hers,
Charles Dickens
Saturday nighty January 4. — All in readiness. Mr.
Dickens arrived punctually with Mr. Osgood at half-
past nine. Hot supper was soon in order and we put
ourselves at it. The dear "chief" was in the best of
good humor in spite of a cold which hangs about him
and stuffs up head and throat, only leaving him for two
hours at night when he reads. 'T is something to be in
first-rate mood with such a cold. . . .
T52 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
The Readings have been so successful in New York
he cannot fail to be pleased, and he does not fail to show
it. Kate Field, New Year's Eve, placed a basket of
flowers on his table; he had seen her bright eyes and
sensitive face, he said. I was glad for Kate, because he
wrote her a little note, which pleased her, of course.
Wednesday^ 'January 8, 1 2 a.m. — I take up the
pen again, having bade our guest a most unwilling
farewell. Last night he read " Copperfield " and the
Trial from "Pickwick." It was an enormous house,
packed in every extremity, receipts in gold about five
hundred and ten pounds ! ! He was pleased, naturally,
and read marvellously well even for him. He was some-
what excited and a good deal tired when he returned,
and in spite of a light supper and stiff glass of punch,
which usually contains soporific qualities, he could not
sleep until near morning. He has been in the best of
spirits during this visit — when he came downstairs
last night to take a. cup of coffee before leaving, he
turned to J., saying, "The hour has almost come when I
to sulphurous and tormenting gas must render up my-
self!" He has been afflicted with catarrh, which comes
and goes and distracts him with a buzzing in his head.
It usually leaves him for the two reading hours. This
is convenient, but it probably returns with worse force.
Sunday night dinner went off brilliantly. Longfellow,
Appleton, Mr. and Mrs. Thaxtcr came to meet "the
chief" and ourselves. Unfortunately there was one
empty seat which Rowse, the artist, had promised to
fill, but was ill at the last and could not — curiously
WITH DICKENS IN AMERICA 153
enough we had asked Osgood, Miss Putnam, and Mr.
Gay besides, all kept away by accident when they would
have given their eyes to come. In the course of the day
he had been to see (with O. W. H.) the ground of the
Parkman murder which has lately been so clearly de-
scribed by Sir Emerson Tennent in "All the Year
Round"; in the evening the talk turned naturally
enough that way, when, after much surmise with regard
to the previous life of the man, Mr. Longfellow looked
up and with an assured, clear tone, said : "Now I have
a story to tell ! A year or two before this event took
place Dr. Webster invited a party of gentlemen to a
dinner at this house, I believe to meet some foreigner
who was interested in science. The doctor himself was
a chemist, and after dinner he had a large bowl placed
in the centre of the table with some chemical mixture in
it which he set on fire after turning the lamp low. A
lurid light came from the bowl which caused a livid
look upon the faces of those who sat round the table,
and while all were observing the ghastly effect. Dr.
Webster rose and, pulling a bit of rope from somewhere
about his person, put it around his neck, reached his
head over the bowl to heighten the effect, hung it on
one side, and lolled his tongue out to give the appear-
ance of a man who had been hanged ! ! ! The whole
scene was terrible and ghastly in the extreme, and,
remembered in the light of what followed, had a pre-
science frightful to contemplate." ^
^ See Forster's Life, III, 368, for the same story told by Dickens in a letter
to Lord Lytton, without naming Longfellow as the narrator.
154 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
Appleton did not talk as much as usual, and we were
rather glad; but Mrs. Thaxter's story took strong hold
on Dickens's fancy, and he told me afterward that
when he awaked in the night he thought of her. I
have seldom sat at dinner with a gentleman more care-
ful and fine in his choice and taste of food and drink
than C. D. The idea of his ever passing the bounds of
temperance is an absurdity not to be thought of for a
moment. In this respect he is quite unlike Mr. Thack-
eray, who at times both ate and drank inordinately,
and without doubt shortened his life by his careless-
ness in these particulars. John Forster, C. D.'s old
friend, is quite ill with gout and some other ails, so
C. 1). writes him long letters full of his experiences.
Wc breakfast at half-past nine punctually, he on a
rasher of bacon and an egg and a cup of tea, always
preferring this same thing. Afterward we talk or play
with the sewing-machine or anything else new and odd
to him. Then he sits down to write until one o'clock,
when he likes a glass of wine and biscuit, and afterward
goes to walk until nearly four, when we dine. After
dinner, reading days, he will take a cup of strong coffee,
a tiny glass of brandy, and a cigar, and likes to lie
down for a short time to get his voice in order. His man
then takes a pt^rtmanteau of clothes to the reading hall,
where he dresses for the evening. Upon our return we
always have supper and he brews a marvellous punch,
which usually makes us all sleep like tops after the
excitement. The perfect kindliness and sympathy which
radiates from the man is, after all, the secret never to
WITH DICKENS IN AMERICA 155
be told, but always to be studied and to thank God for.
His rapid eyes, which nothing can escape, eyes which,
when he first appears upon the stage, seem to interro-
gate the lamps and all things above and below (like
exclamation points, Aldrich says), are unlike anything
before in our experience. There are no living eyes like
them, swift and kind, possessing none of the bliss of
ignorance, but the different bliss of one who sees what
the Lord has done and what, or something of what, he
intends. Such charity ! Poor man ! He must have
learned great need for that. . . . He is a man who has
suffered, evidently. Georgina Hogarth he always
speaks of in the most affectionate terms, such as "she
has been a mother to my children," "she keeps the list
of the wine cellar, and every few days examines to see
what we are now in want of."
I hardly know anything more amusing than when he
begs not to be "set a-going" on one of his .readings by a
quotation or otherwise, and [it is] odd enough to hear
him go on, having been so touched off. He has been a
great student of Shakespeare, which appears often in
his talk. His love of the theatre is something which
never pales, he says, and the people who go upon the
stage, however poor their pay or hard their lot, love it,
he thinks, too well ever to adopt another vocation of
their free will. One of the oddest sights a green room
presents, he says, is when they are collecting children
for a pantomime. For this purpose the prompter calls
together all the women in the ballet and begins giving
out their names in order, while they press about him.
156 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
eager for the chance of increasing their poor pay by the
extra pittance their children will receive. "Mrs. John-
son, how many ?" "Two, sir." "What years ?" "Seven
and ten." "Mrs. B." — and so on until the requisite
number is made up. He says, where one member of a
family obtains regular employment at the theatre, others
are sure to come in after a time; the mother will be in
the wardrobe, children in pantomime, elder sisters in
the ballet, etc.
When we asked him to return to us, he said he must
be loyal to "the show," and, having three or four men
with him, ought to be at an hotel where he could attend
properly to the business. He never forgets the needs of
those who are dependent upon him, is liberal to his
servants (and to ours also), and liberal in his heart to
all sorts and conditions of men.
I have one deeply seated hope, that he will read for
the Freed people before he leaves the country; and I
cannot help thinking he will. . . .
For more than a month from the time of this entry
Dickens was carrying the triumph of his readings into
other cities than Boston. There he had left a faithful
champion in the person of Mrs. Fields, who wrote in
her diary on January 26, 1868 : "It is odd how preju-
diced people have allowed themselves to become about
Dickens. I seldom make a call where his name is intro-
duced that I do not feel the injustice done to him per-
sonally, as if mankind resented the fact that he had
excited more love than most men." As his return to
WITH DICKENS IN AMERICA 157
Boston drew near, she wrote, February i8th: "We are
anticipating and doorkeeping for the arrival of our
friend. Whatever unpleasant is said of Charles Dickens
I take almost as if said against myself. It is so hard to
help this when you love a friend." On February 21st
there is the entry: "We go to Providence tonight to
hear *Dr. Marigold.' I have been full of plans for next
week, which is to be a busy season with us of company."
Saturday^ February 22. — We have heard ** Mari-
gold" ! To be sure, the audience was sadly stupid and
unresponsive, but we were penetrated by it. . . .
What a night we had in Providence ! Our beds were
comfortable enough, for which we were deeply thankful ;
but none of the party slept, I believe, except Mr. Dolby,
and his rest was Inevitably cut short in the morning by
business. I believe I lay awake from pure pleasure after
such a treat. Hearing "Marigold" and having supper
afterward with the dear great man. We played a game
at cards which was most curious — indeed, something
more — so much more that I have forgotten to be
afraid of him.
In writing the chapter, "Glimpses of Emerson," in
"Authors and Friends," Mrs. Fields drew freely upon
the entry that here follows in its fullness.
Tuesday morning^ February 25. — Somewhat fa-
tigued. The "Marigold" went off brilliantly. He never
read better nor was more universally applauded. Mr.
158 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
Emerson came down to go, and passed the night here;
of course we sat talking until late, he being much sur-
prised at the artistic perfection of the performance. It
was queer enough to sit by his side, for when his stoicism
did at length break down, he laughed as if he must
crumble to pieces at such unusual bodily agitation, and
with a face on as if it hurt him dreadfully — to look at
him was too much for me, already full of laughter my-
self. Afterward we all went in to shake hands for a
moment.
When we came back home Mr. Emerson asked me a
great many questions about C. D. and pondered much.
Finally he said, "I am afraid he has too much talent for
his genius; it is a fearful locomotive to which he is
bound and can never be free from it nor set at rest. You
see him quite wrong, evidently; and would persuade
me that he is a genial creature, full of sweetness and
amenities and superior to his talents, but I fear he is
harnessed to them. He is too consummate an artist to
have a thread of nature left. He daunts me ! I have not
the key."
When Mr. Fields came in he repeated, " Mrs. Fields
would persuade me he is a man easy to communicate
with, sympathetic and accessible to his friends; but her
eyes do not see clearly in this matter, I am sure." "Look
for yourself, dear Mr. Emerson," I answered, laughing,
"and then report to me afterward."
While we were enjoying ourselves in this way, a great
change has come to the country. The telegram arrived
during the Reading bringing the news of the President's
WITH DICKENS IN AMERICA 159
impeachment, 126 against 47. Since Johnson is to be
thrust out, and since another revolution is upon us
(Heaven help us that it be a peaceful one), we can only
be thankful that the majority is so large. Mr. Dickens's
account of the ability of Johnson, of his apparent in-
tegrity and of his present temperance, as contrasted with
the present (reported) failures of Grant in this respect,
have made me shudder, for I presume Grant is inevit-
ably the next man. Mrs. Agassiz was evidently pleased
with the appearance of General Grant and his wife.
She Hked their repose of manner and ease ; but I think
this rather a shallow judgment because poise and ease
of manner belong to the coarsest natures and to the
finest ; in the latter it is conquest ; and this is why these
quahties have so high a place in the esteem of man ; but
it is likewise the gift of society people who neither feel
nor understand the varied natures with whom they come
in contact.
Longfellow is at work on a tragedy, of which no words
are spoken at present. Today Mr. Dickens does not go
out ; he is writing letters home. Yesterday he and J.
walked seven miles, which is about their average gen-
erally. . . .
February Tj. — Longfellow's birthday. Last night
Dickens went to a supper at Lowell's and J. passed the
evening with Longfellow. L.'s tragedy comes on apace.
He looks to Fechter to help him. Dickens has doubtless
done much to quicken him to write. He has two nearly
finished in blank verse, both begun since this month
came in. J. returned at half-past eleven, bringing an
i6o MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
unread newspaper in his pocket which L. had lent him,
telling him to read something to me about Dickens
and return. Ah me ! We could have cried as we
read! It was the saddest of sad letters, written at the
time the separation from his wife took place. The gen-
tleman to whom he wrote it has died and the letter
has stolen into print. I only hope the poor man may
never see it.
Tonight he reads "Carol" and "Boots" and sups
here with Longfellow afterward.
An entry in Mrs. FicKls's liiary about two years later
indicates with some clearness that she overestimated
the sympathy between lx)ngfellow and Dickens. After
a visit from Longfellow, she wrote, May 24, 1870: —
When Mr. L. talks so much and so pleasantly, I ani
curiously reminded of Dickens's saying to Forster, who
lamented that he did not see I^xingfellow upon his return
to I^)ndon, "It was not a great loss this time, Forster;
he had not a word to say for himself — he was the most
embarrassing man in all England !" It is a difference of
temjx'ranicnt which will never let those two men come
together. They have no handle by which to take hold of
each other. I^)ngfellow told a gentleman at his table
when J. was present that Dickens saved himself for his
books, there was nothing to be learned in private — he
never talked ! !
To return to Dickens in Boston : —
WITH DICKENS IN AMERICA i6i
Sunday^ March i . — What a week we have had ! I
feel utterly weary this morning, although I did start up
with exceeding bravery and walked four miles just after
breakfast, in order to see that the flowers were right at
church and to ask some people to dinner today who
could not, however, come. The air was very keen and
exciting and I did not know I was tired until I came
back and collapsed. Our supper came off Thursday,
but without Dickens. His cold had increased upon him
seriously and he was really ill after his long, difficult
reading. But Longfellow was perfectly lovely, so easily
pleased and so deeply pleased with my little efforts to
make this day a festival time. Dickens and Whittier
both sent affectionate and graceful notes when they
found they really could not come. Our company stayed
until two A.M., Emerson never more talkative and good.
He is a noble purifier of the social atmosphere, always
keeping the talk simple as possible but up to the highest
pitch of thought and feeling.
Friday, the Dana girls, Sallie and Charlotte, passed
the night with us and went to the reading and shook
hands with Mr. Dickens afterward. They were per-
fectly happy when they went away yesterday. . . .
[The walking match between Dolby and Osgood to
which the following paragraph refers has already been
mentioned. The elaborately humorous conditions of the
contest, drawn up by Dickens, are printed in "Yester-
days with Authors." "We have had such a funny paper
from Dickens today," Mrs. Fields had written in her
diary, on February 5th, "that it can only describe it-
i62 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
self — Articles drawn up arranging for a walk and din-
ner upon his return here, as if it were some fierce legal
document."]
I had barely time yesterday, after the girls left, to
dress and prepare some flowers and some lunch and
make my way in a carriage, first to the Parker House at
Mr. Dickens's kind request, to see if all the table ar-
rangements were perfect for the dinner. I found he had
done everything he could think of to make the feast go
off well and had really left nothing for me to suggest, so
I turned about and drove over the mill-dam, following
Messrs. Dickens, Dolby, Osgood, and Fields, who had
left just an hour before on a walking match of six miles
out and six in. This agreement was made and articles
drawn up several weeks ago, signed and sealed in form
by all the parties, to come off without regard to the
weather. The wind was blowing strong from the north-
west, very cold, and the snow blowing, too. They had
turned and were coming back when I came up with
them. Osgood was far ahead and, after saluting them
all and giving a cheer for America, discovering too that
they had refreshed on the way, I drove back to Mr.
Osgood, keeping near him and administering brandy all
the way in town. The walk was accomplished in pre-
cisely two hours forty-eight minutes. Of course Mr.
Dickens stayed by his man, who was beaten out and
out. They were all exhausted, for the snow made the
walking extremely difficult, and they all jumped into
carriages and drove home with great speed to bathe and
sleep before dinner.
WITH DICKENS IN AMERICA 163
At six o'clock we were assembled, eighteen of us, for
dinner, looking our very best (I hope) — at least we all
tried for that, I am sure — and sat punctually down to
our elegant dinner. I have never seen a dinner more
beautiful. Two English crowns of violets were at the
opposite ends of the table and flowers everywhere ar-
ranged in perfect taste. I sat at Mr. Dickens's right
hand and next Mr. Lowell. Mrs. Norton sat the other
side of our host, and he divided his attention loyally
between us. He talked with me about Spiritualism as
it is called, the humbug of which excites his deepest ire,
although no one could believe more entirely than he in
magnetism and the unfathomed ties between man and
man. He told me many curious things about the traps
which had been laid by well-meaning friends to bring
him into "spiritual" circles. But he said, "If I go to a
friend's house for the purpose of exposing a fraud in
which she believes, I am doing a very disagreeable thing
and not what she invited me for. Forster and I were in-
vited to Lord Dufferin's to a little dinner with Home.
I refused, but Forster went, saying beforehand to Lord
Dufferin that Home would have no spirits about if he
came. Lord Dufferin said, 'Nonsense,' and the dinner
came off; but they were hardly seated at table when
Home announced that there was an adverse influence
present and the spirits would not appear. *Ah,* said
Forster, 'my spirits in this case were clearer than yours,
for they told me before I came that there would be no
manifestations tonight.'"
Speaking of dreams, he said he was convinced that no
164 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
man (judging from his own experience, which could not
be altogether singular, but must be a type of the experi-
. ence of others), he believed no writer, neither Shake-
speare nor Scott nor any other who had ever invented a
character, had ever been known to dream about the
creature of his imagination. It would be like a man's
dreaming of meeting himself, which was clearly an im-
possibility. Things exterior to oneself must always be
the basis of our dreams. This talk about characters led
him to say how mysterious and beautiful the action of
the mind was around any given subject. "Suppose," he
said, "this wine-glass were a character, fancy it a man,
endue it with certain qualities, and soon fine filmy webs
of thoughts almost impalpable coming from every direc-
tion, and yet wc know not from where, spin and weave
around it until it assumes form and bcaury and becomes
instinct with life. ..."
Mr. Lowell asked him some question in a low voice
about the country, when I heard him say presently that
it was very much grown up, indeed he should not know
oftentimes that he was not in England, things went on
so much the same and with very few exceptions (hardly
worth mentioning) he was let alone precisely as he would
have been there.
He loves to talk of Gad's Hill and stopped joyfully
from other talk to tell me how his daughter Mary ar-
ranged his table with flowers. He speaks continually of
her great taste in combining flowers. "Sometimes she
will have nothing but water-lilies," he said, as if the
memory were a fragrance.
WITH DICKENS IN AMERICA 165
Some one has said, "We cannot love and be wise."
I will gladly give away the inconsistent wisdom, for
Jamie and I are truly penetrated with grateful love to
CD.
Wednesday J March 3. — Mr. Dickens came over
last night with Messrs. Osgood and Dolby, to pass the
evening and have a little punch and supper and a merry
game with us. . . .
They left punctually before eleven, having promised
the driver they would not keep him waiting in the cold.
Jamie has every day long walks with him. He has told
him much regarding the forms and habits of his life.
He is fond of "Gad's Hill," and his "dear daughters"
and their aunt. Miss Hogarth, make his home circle.
What a dear one it is to him can be seen whenever his
thought turns that way ; and if his letters do not come
punctually, he is in low spirits. He is a great actor and
artist, but above all a great and loving and well-beloved
man. (This I cling to in memory of Mr. Emerson's
dictum.)
I am deep in Carlyle's history and every little thing I
hear chimes in with that. After the dinner (at the
Parker) the other night, Mr. Dickens thought he would
take a warm bath; but, the water being drawn, he
began playing the clown in pantomime on the edge of
the bath (with his clothes on) for the amusement of
Dolby and Osgood ; in a moment and before he knew
where he was, he had tumbled in head over heels, clothes
and all. A second and improved edition of "Les Noy-
ades," I thought. Surely this book is a marvel of thought
i66 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
and labor. Why, why have I left it unknown to myself
until now ? I fear, unlike Lowell, it is because I could
not read eighteen uninterrupted hours without apo-
plexy or some other *exy, which would destroy what
power I have forever.
March 6. — Mr. Dickens dined here last night
without company except Messrs. Dolby and Osgood
and Howells. We had a very merry time. They had
been to visit the Cambridge Printing Office in the after-
noon and had been shown so many things that "the
chief" said he began to think he should have a bitter
hatred against any mortal who undertook to show him
anything else in the world, and laughed immoderately
at J. T. F.'s proposition to show him the new fruit house
afterward. We all had a game of Nincomtwitch and
separated rather early because we were going to a party ;
and as C. D. shook me by the hand to say gcx)d-bye, he
said he hoped we would have a better time at this party
than he ever had at any party in all his life. A part of
the dinner-time was taken up by half guess and half
calculation of how far Mr, Dickens's manuscript would
extend in a single line. Mr. Osgood said 40 miles. J.
said icxDjOOO ( ! !). I believe they are really going to find
out. C. D. said he felt as if it would go farther than 40
miles, and was inclined to be "down" on Osgood until
he saw him doing figures in his head after a fearful
fashion. All this amusing talk served to give one a
strange, weird sensation of the value of words over time
and space; these little marks of immeasurable value
covering so slight a portion of the rough earth 1 Howells
WITH DICKENS IN AMERICA 167"
talked a little of Venice, thought the Ligurians lived
better than the Venetians. C. D. said they ate but little
meat when he lived in Genoa; chiefly "pasta" with a
good soup poured over it. . . .
He leaves Boston today, to return the first of April,
so I will end this poor little surface record here, hoping
always that the new sheet shall have something written
down of a deeper, simpler, and more inseeing nature.
On the return of Dickens to Boston, Mrs. Fields dined
with him at the Parker House, March 31, 1868, and,
commenting on his lack of "talent" for sleeping, wrote
in her diary : —
I remember Carlyle says, "When Dulness puts his
head upon his mattresses, Dulness sleeps," referring to
the apathetic people who went on their daily habits and
avocations in Paris while men were guillotined by thou-
sands in the next street. Mr. Dickens talked as usual,
much and naturally — first of the various hotels of
which he had late experience. The one in Portland was
particularly bad, the dinner, poor as it was, being
brought in small dishes, " as if Osgood and I should quar-
rel over it," everything being very bad and disgusting
which the little dishes contained.
At last they came to the book, "Ecce Homo," in
which Dickens can see nothing of value, any more than
we. He thinks Jesus foresaw and guarded as well as he
could against the misinterpreting of his teaching, that
the four Gospels are all derived from some anterior
i68 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
written Scriptures — made up, perhaps, with additions
and interpolations from the "Talmud," in which he ex-
pressed great interest and admiration. Among other
things which prove how little the Gospels should be
taken literally is the fact that broad phylacteries were not
in use until some years after Jesus lived, so that the
passage in which this reference occurs, at least, must
only be taken as conveying the spirit and temper, not
the actual form of speech, of our Lord. Mr. Dickens
spoke reverently and earnestly, and said much more if I
could recall it perfectly.
Then he came to "spiritualism" again, and asked if
he had ever told us his interview with Colchester, the
famous medium. He continued that, being at Kneb-
worth one day, Lytton, having finished his dinner and
retired to the comfort of his pipe, said : " Why don't you
see some of these famous men ? What a pity Home has
just gone." (Here Dickens imitated to the life Lytton's
manner of speaking, so I could see the man.) "Well,"
said D., "he went on to say so much about it that I
inquired of him who was the next best man. He said
there was one Colchester, if possible better than Home.
So I took Colchester's address, got Charley Collins, my
son-in-law, to write to him asking an interview for five
gentlemen and for any day he should designate, the
hour being two o'clock. A day being fixed, I wrote to a
young French conjuror, with whom I had no acquaint-
ance but had observed his great cleverness at his busi-
ness before the public, to ask him to accompany us.
He acceded with alacrity. Therefore, with poor Chaun-
WITH DICKENS IN AMERICA 169
cey Townshend, just dead, and one other person whom
I do not at this moment recall, we waited upon Mr. Col-
chester. As we entered the room, I leading the way,
the man, recognizing me immediately, turned deadly
pale, especially when he saw me followed by the con-
juror and Townshend, who, with his colored imperial
and beard and tight-fitting wig, looked like a member
of the detective police. He trembled visibly, became
livid to the eyes, all of which was visible in spite of
paint with which his face was covered to the eyes. He
withdrew for a few minutes, during which we heard
him in hot discussion with his accomplice, telling him
how he was cornered and trying to imagine some way
in which to get out of the trap, the other evidently urg-
ing him to go through with it now the best way he could.
He returned, therefore, and placed himself with his back
to the light, while it shone upon our faces. We sat
awhile in silence until he began, insolently turning to
me : 'Take up the alphabet and think of somebody who
is dead, pass your hands over the letters, and the spirit
will indicate the name.' I thought of Mary and took
the alphabet, and when I came to M, he rapped; but
I was sure that I had unconsciously signified by some
movement and determined to be more skilful the next
time.
For the next letter, therefore, he went on to H, and
then asked me if that was right. I told him I thought
the spirits ought to know. He then began with
some one else, but doing nothing he became hotter
and hotter, the perspiration pouring from his face, until
I70 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
he got up, said the spirits were against him, and was
about to withdraw. I then rose and told him that it
was the most shameless imposition, that he had got us
there with the intent to deceive and under false pre-
tences, that he had done nothing and could do nothing.
He offered to return our money — I said the fact of his
taking the money at all was the point. At last the
wretch said, turning to the Frenchman, 'I did tell you
one name, Valentine.' 'Yes,' answered the young con-
juror, with a sudden burst of English, 'Yes, but I
showed it to you !' indicating with a swift movement of
the hand how he had given him a chance." Then it was
all up with Colchester, and more scathing words than
those spoken by Dickens to him have been seldom
spoken by mortal.
It was the righteous anger of one trying to avenge
and help the world. Mr. Dickens always seems to
me like one who, working earnestly with his eyes fixed
on the immutable, nevertheless finds to his own sur-
prise that his words place him among the prophets.
He does not arrogate a place to himself there; indeed
he is singularly humble (as it seems to us) in the
moral position he takes; but for all that is led by the
Divine Hand to see what a power he is and in an
unsought-for manner finds himself among the teachers
of the earth. He says nowhere is a man placed in such
an unfair position as at church. If one could only be
allowed to get up and state his objections, it would be
very well, but under the circumstances he declines
being preached to.
WITH DICKENS IN AMERICA 171
A few days later Mrs. Fields heard Dickens read the
"Christmas Carol" for the last time in Boston.
Such a wonderful evening as it was ! ! We were on fire
with enthusiasm and in spite of some people who went
with us . . . looking, as C. D. said, as if they were sorry
they had come, they were really filled with enthusiasm,
and enjoying as fully as their critical and crossed natures
would allow. He himself was full of fun and put in all
manner of queer things for our amusement ; but what he
put in, involuntarily, when he turned on a man who was
standing staring fixedly at him with an opera glass, was
almost more than we could bear. The stolidity of the
man, the fixed glass, the despairing, annihilating look of
Dickens were too much for our equanimity.
Thursday. — Anniversary of C. D.'s marriage day
and of John Forster's birthday. C. D. not at all well,
coughing all the time and in low spirits. Mr. Dolby
came in when J. was there in the morning to say there
were two gentlemen from New Bedford (friends of
Mr. Osgood's) who wished to see him. Would he allow
them to come in ? "No, I '11 be damned if I will," he
said, like a spoiled child, starting up from his chair !
J. was equally amused and astonished at the outburst,
but sleeplessness, narcotics, and the rest of the crew of
disturbers have done their worst. My only fear is he
may be ill. However, they had a walk together towards
noon and he revived, but coughed badly in the evening.
I think, too, only ^1300 in the house was bad for his
spirits 1
172 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
/Ipril 7. — Dickens . . . told Jamie the other day
in walking that he wrote "Nicholas Nickleby" and
"Oliver Twist" at the same time for rival magazines
from month to month. Once he was taken ill, with both
magazines waiting for unwritten sheets. He immedi-
ately took steamer for Boulogne, took a room in an inn
there, secure from interruption, and was able to return
just in season for the monthly issues with his work com-
pleted. He sees now how the work of both would have
been better done had he worked only upon one at a
time.
After the exertion of last evening he looked pale and
exhausted. Longfellow and Norton joined with us in
trying to dissuade him from future Readings after these
two. He docs not recover his vitality after the effort
of reading, and his spirits are naturally somewhat de-
pressed by the use of soporifics, which at length became
a necessity. . . . "CoppcrficKl" was a tragedy last
night — less vigor but great tragic power came out of
it.
April 8. — In spite of a deluge of rain last night
there was a large audience to hear Dickens, and lx)ng-
fellow came as usual. He read with more vigor than
the night before and seemed better. . . . The time ap-
proaches swiftly for our flight to New York. We dread
to leave home and would only do it for hiniy besides, the
pleasure must be much in the fact of trying to do some-
thing rather than in really doing anything, for I fear he
will be too ill antl utterly fatigued to care much about
anything but rest.
WITH DICKENS IN AMERICA 173
Friday y April 10. — Left home at eight o'clock in
the morning, found our dearly beloved friend C. D.
already awaiting us, with two roses in his coat and look-
ing as fresh as possible. It was my first ride in America
in a compartment car. Mr. Dolby made the fourth in
our little party and we had a table and a game of "Nin-
com" and "Casino" and talked and laughed and whiled
away the time pleasantly until we arrived here at the
Westminster Hotel in time for dinner at six. I was im-
pressed all day long with the occasional languor which
came over C. D. and always with the exquisite delicacy
and quickness of his perception, something as fine as the
finest woman possesses, which combined itself won-
drously with the action of the massive brain and the
rapid movement of those strong, strong hands. I felt
how deeply we had learned to love him and how hard it
would be for us to part.
At dinner he gave us a marvellous description of his
life as a reporter. It seems he invented (in a measure) a
system of stenography for himself; this is to say he
altered Gurney's system to suit his own needs. He was
a very young man, not yet 20, when at seven guineas a
week he was engaged as reporter on the" Morning Chron-
icle," then a very large and powerful paper. At this
period the present Lord Derby, then Mr. Stanley, was
beginning his brilliant career, and O'Connell, Shiel, and
others were at the height of their powers. Wherever
these men spoke a corps of reporters was detailed to
follow them and with the utmost expedition forward
verbatim reports to the " Chronicle." Often and often he
174 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
has gone by post-chaise to Edinburgh, heard a speech
or a part of it (having instructions, whatever happened,
to leave the place again at a certain hour, the next re-
porter taking up his work where he must leave it), and
has driven all the way back to London, a bag of sover-
eigns on one side of his body and a bag of slips of paper
on the other, writing, writing desperately all the way
by the light of a small lamp. At each station a man on
horseback would stand ready to seize the sheets already
prepared and ride with them to London. Often and
often this work would make him deadly sick and he
would have to plunge his head out of the window to re-
lieve himself; still the writing went steadily forward on
very little slips of paper which he held before him, just
resting his body on the edge of the seat and his paper on
the front of the window underneath the lamp. As the
station was reached, a sudden plunge into the pocket of
sovereigns would pay the postboys, another behind him
would render up the completed pages, and a third into
the pocket on the other side wouKl give him the fresh
paper to carry forward the inexorable, unremitting work.
At this period there was a large sheet started in which
all the speeches of Parliament were* reported verbatim
in order to preserve them for future reference — a mon-
strous plan which fell through after a time. For this
paper it was especially desired to have a speech of Mr.
Stanley accurately reported upon the condition of Ire-
land, containing suggestions for the amelioration of the
people's suffering. It was a very long and eloquent
speech, and took many hours in the delivery. There were
WITH DICKENS IN AMERICA 175
eight reporters upon the work, each to work three-
quarters of an hour and then to retire to write out his
portion and be succeeded by the next. It happened that
the roll of reporters was exhausted before the speech
came to an end and C. D. was called in to report the
last portions, which were very eloquent. This was on
Friday, and on Saturday the whole was given to the
press and the young reporter ran down to the country
for a Sunday's rest. Sunday morning had scarcely
dawned "when my poor father, who was a man of im-
mense energy, surprised me by making his appearance
The speech had come into Mr. Stanley's hands, who was
most anxious to have it correctly given in order to have
it largely circulated in Ireland, and he found it all bosh,
hardly a word right, except at the beginning and the
end. Sending immediately to the office, he had ob-
tained my sheets, at the top of which, according to cus-
tom, the name of the reporter was written, and, finding
the name of Dickens, had immediately sent in search of
me. My father, thinking this would be the making of
me, came immediately, and I followed him back to
London. I remember perfectly the look of the room and
of the two gentlemen in it as I entered — Mr. Stanley
and his father. They were extremely courteous, but I
could see their evident surprise at the appearance of so
young a man. For a moment as we talked I had taken a
seat extended to me in the middle of the room. Mr.
Stanley told me he wished to go over the whole speech,
and if I was ready he would begin. Where would I like
to sit ? I told him I was very well where I was and we
176 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
would begin immediately. He tried to induce me to sit
elsewhere or more comfortably, but at that time in the
House of Commons there was nothing but one's knees
to write upon and I had formed the habit of it. Without
further pause then he began, and went on hour after
hour to the end, often becoming very much excited,
bringing down his hand with violence upon the desk
near which he stood and rising at the end into great elo-
quence.
"In these later years we never meet without that
scene returning vividly to my mind, as I have no doubt
it does to his also, but I, of course, have never referred
to it, leaving him to do so if he shall ever think fit.
"Shiel was a small man with a queer high voice and
spoke very fast. O'Connell had a fine brogue which he
cultivated, and a magnificent eye. He had written a
speech about this time upon the wrongs of Ireland, and,
though he repeated it many, many times during three
months when I followed him about the country, I never
heard him give it twice the same, nor ever without being
himself deeply moved." '
Mr. Dickens's imitation of Bulwer Lytton is so vivid
that I feel as if it were taking a glimpse at the man him-
self. His deaf manner of speaking he represents exactly.
He says he is very brilliant and quick in conversation,
and knows everything ! ! He is a conscientious and un-
remitting student and worker. "I have been surprised
to see how well his books wear. Lately I have reread
'In Yesterdays with .luthors (sec pp. 230-31), FicKis mailc use, with re-
visions and omissions, of this portion of his wife's diary.
WITH DICKENS IN AMERICA 177
'Pelham' and I assure you I found it admirable. His
speech at the dinner given to me just before leaving was
well written, full of good things, but delivered exe-
crably. He lacks a kind of confidence in his own powers
which is necessary in a good speaker."
Speaking of O'Connell, Mr. Dickens said there had
been nobody since who could compare with him but
John Bright, who is at present the finest speaker in Eng-
land. Cobden was fond of reasoning, and hardly what
would be called a brilliant speaker ; but his noble truth-
fulness and devotion to the cause to which he had
pledged himself made him one of the grandest of Eng-
land's great men. I asked about Mrs. Cobden. He told
me she had been made very comfortable and in a beauti-
ful manner. After her husband's death, his affairs hav-
ing become involved by some bad investment he had
made, a committee of six gentlemen came together to
consider what should be done to commemorate his great
and unparalleled devotion to his country. The result
was, instead of having a public subscription for Mrs.
Cobden with the many unavoidable and disagreeable
features of such a step, each of these gentlemen sub-
scribed about £12,000, thus making £70,000, a suffi-
cient sum to make her most comfortable for life. . . .
I have forgotten to say how in those long rides from
Edinburgh the mud dashed up and into the opened
windows of the post-chaise, nor how they would be
obliged to fling it off from their faces and even from the
papers on which they wrote. As Dickens told us, he
flung the imaginary evil from him as he did the real in
178 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
the days long gone, and we could see him with the old
disgust returned. He said, by the way, that never
since those old days when he left the House of Com-
mons as a Reporter had he entered it again. His hatred
of the falseness of talk, of bombastic eloquence, he had
heard there made it impossible for him ever to go in
again to hear anyone.
Sunday^ April ii. — Last night we went to the circus
together, C. D., J., and I. It is a pretty building. I was
astonished at the knowledge C. D. showed of every-
thing before him. He knew how the horses were sten-
ciled, how tight the wire bridles were, etc. The monkey
was, however, the chief attraction. He was rather
drunk or tired last night and did not show to good ad-
vantage, but he knew how to do all the things quite as
well as the men. When the young rope-dancer slipped
(he was but an apprentice at the business, without
wages, C. D. thought), he tried over and over again to
accomplish a certain somersault until he achieved it,
"That 's the law of the circus," said C. D. ; "they are
never allowed to give up, and it 's a capital rule for
everything in life. Doubtless this idea has been handed
down from the Greeks or Romans and these people
know nothing about where it came from. Hut it 's well
for all of us." . . .
.At six o'clock Mr. Dickens and Mr. Dolby came in to
dinner. He seemed much revived both in health and
spirits, in spite of the weather. . . .
Dickens talked of Frederick Lemaitre ; he is upwards
of sixty years old now; but he has always lived a
WITH DICKENS IN AMERICA 179
wretched life, a low, poor fellow ; yet he will surprise the
actors continually by the new points he will make. He
will come in at rehearsal, go about the stage in an abject
wretched manner, with clothes torn and soiled as he
has just emerged from his vulgar, vicious haunts, and
without giving sign or glimmer of his power. Presently
he says to the prompter, who always has a tallow candle
burning on his box, "Give me your candle"; then he
will blow it out and with the snuff make a cross upon
his book. "What are you going to do, Frederick ?" the
actors say. "I don't know yet; you '11 see by and by,"
he says, and day after day perhaps will pass, until one
night when he will suddenly flash upon them some won-
derful point. They, the actors, watching him, try to
hold themselves prepared, and if he gives them the least
hint will mould their parts to fit his. Sometimes he
will ask for a chair. "What will you do with it, Fred-
erick?" He does not reply, but night after night the
chair is placed there until he makes his point. He often
comes hungry to the theatre, and the manager must
give him a dinner and pay for it before he will go on.
Fechter, from whom these particulars come, tells
Dickens that there can be nothing more wonderful than
his acting in the old scene of the miserable father who
kills his own son at the inn. The son, coming in rich and
handsome, and seeing this old sot about to be driven
from the porch by the servant, tells the man to give him
meat and wine. While he eats and drinks, the wretch
sees how freely the rich man handles his gold and re-
solves to kill him. Fechter's description, with his own
i8o MEMORIES OF A HOSTTSS
knowledge of Lemaitre, had so inspired Dickens that
he was able to reproduce him again for us.
JVednesday^ April 15. — [On returning from a read-
ing in "Steinway Hall, than which nothing could be
worse for reading or speaking"]: He soon came up
after a little soup, when he called for brandy and lemons
and made such a burnt brandy punch as has been
seldom tasted this side of the "pond." As the punch
blazed his spirits rose and he began to sing an old-
fashioned comic song such as in the old days was given
between the plays at the theatre. One song led to an-
other until we fell into inextinguishable laughter, for
anything more comic than his renderings of the chorus
cannot be imagined. Surely there is no living actor
who could excel him in these things if he chose to exert
his ability. His renilering of "Chrush ke Ian ne chous-
kin !!" or a lingo which sounded like that (the refrain
of an old Irish song) was something tremendous. We
laughed till I was really afraid he would make himself
too hoarse to read the next night. He gave a queer old
song full of rhymes, obtained with immense difficulty
and circumlocution, to the word "annuity," which it
appeared has been sought by an old woman with great
assiduity and granted with immense i)icougruity. The
negro minstrels have in great part supplanted these
queer old English, Irish, and Scotch ballads, but they
are sure to come up again from time to time. \Vc did
not separate until 12, and felt the next morning (as he
said) as if we had had a regular orgy. They did not
forget, Dolby and he, to pay a proper tribute to " Mary-
WITH DICKENS IN AMERICA i8i
land, My Maryland," and "Dixie" as very stirring
ballads.
[After another reading, from which Dickens came
home extremely tired] : We ran in at once to talk with
him and he soon cheered up. When I first pushed open
the door he was a perfect picture of prostration, his
head thrown back without support on the couch, the
blood suffusing his throat and temples again where he
had been very white a few minutes before. This is a
physical peculiarity with Dickens which I have never
seen before in a man, though women are very subject
to that thing. Excitement and exercise of reading will
make the blood rush into his hands until they become
at times almost black, and his face and head (especially
since he has become so fatigued) will turn from red to
white and back to red again without his being conscious
of it.
Friday y April 17. — Weather excessively warm, sky
often overcast. Last evening Mr. Dickens read again
and for the last time " Copperfield" and " Bob Sawyer."
He was much exhausted and said he watched a man
who was carried out in a fainting condition to see how
they managed it, with the lively interest of one who was
about to go through the same scene himself. The heat
from the gas around him was intolerable. After the
reading we went into his room to have a little soup,
"broiled bones," and a sherry cobbler. His spirits were
good in spite of fatigue, the thought of home and the
memories of England coming back vividly. We, finally,
from talk of English scenery, found ourselves in Strat-
1 82 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
ford. He says there is an inn at Rochester, very old,
which he has no doubt Shakespeare haunted. This con-
viction came forcibly upon him one night as he was
walking that way and discovered Charles's Wain set-
ting over the chimney just as Shakespeare has described.
"When you come to Gad's Hill, please God, I will show
you Charles's Wain setting over the old roof."
We left him early, hoping he would sleep, but he
hardly closed his eyes all night. Whether he was
haunted by visions of home, or what the cause was, we
cannot discover, but whatever it may be, his strength
fails under such unnatural and continual excitement.
Saturday ^ April i8. — Mr. Dickens has a badly
sprained foot. We like our rooms at his hotel — 47 is
the number. Last night was "Marigold" and "Gamp"
for the last time. He threw in a few touches for our
amusement and a great deal of vigor into the whole.
Afterward we took supper together, when he told us
some remarkable things. Among others he rehearsed a
scene described to him years ago by Dr. Eliotson of
London of a man about to be hanged. His last hour had
approached as the doctor entered the cell of the crim-
inal, who was as justly sentenced as ever a wretch was
for having cut off the end of his own illegitimate child.
The man was rocking miserably in his chair back and
forth in a weak, maudlin condition, while the clergyman
in attendance, who had spoken of him as repentant and
religious in his frame of mind, was administering the
sacrament. The wine stood in a cup at one side untij the
sacred words were said, when at the proper moment the
WITH DICKENS IN AMERICA 183
clergyman gave it to the man, who was still rocking
backward and forward, muttering, "What will my poor
mother think of this?" Finding the cup in his hands,
he looked into it for a moment as if trying to collect him-
self, and then, putting on his regular old pothouse man-
ner, he said, "Gen'lemen, I drink your health," and
drained the cup in a drunken way. "I think," said
C. D., "it is thirty years since I heard Dr. Eliotson tell
me this, but I shall never forget the horror that scene
inspired in my mind." The talk had taken this turn
from the fact of a much-dreaded Press dinner which is
to come off tonight and which jocosely assumed the
idea of a hanging to their minds. C. D. said he had often
thought how restricted one's conversation must become
with a man who was to be hanged in half an hour. "You
could not say, if it rains, 'We shall have fine weather
tomorrow ! ' for what would that be to him ? For my
part, I think I should confine my remarks to the times
of Julius Caesar and King Alfred ! !" He then related a
story of a condemned man out of whom no evidence
could be elicited. He would not speak. At last he was
seated before a fire for a few moments, just before his
execution, when a servant entered and smothered what
fire there was with a huge hodful of coal. ''In half an
hour that will be a goodfire^' he was heard to murmur.
Mr. Dickens has now read 76 times. It seems like a
dream.
Sunday^ April 19. — Last night the great New
York Press dinner came off. It was a close squeeze with
Mr. Dickens to get there at all. He had been taken
i84 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
lame the night before, his foot becoming badly swollen
and painful. In spite of a skilful physician he grew worse
and worse every hour, and when the time for the dinner
arrived he was unable to bear anything upon his foot.
So long as he was above ground, however, it was a
necessity he should go, and an hour and a half after the
time appointed, with his foot sewed up in black silk, he
made his way to Delmonico's. Poor man ! Nothing
could be more unfortunate, but he bore this difficult
part off in a stately and composed manner as if it were a
sign of the garter he were doffing for the first time in-
stead of a badge of ill health. The worst of it is that the
papers will telegraph news of his illness to England.
This seems to disturb him more than anything else.
Ah ! What a mystery these ties of love are — such pain,
such ineffable happiness — the only happiness. After
his return he repeated to me from memory every word
of his speech without dropping one. He never thinks of
such a thing as writing his speeches, but simply turns it
over in his mind and "balances the sentences, " when he
is all right. He produced an immense effect on the Press
of New York, tremendous applause responding to every
sentence. Curtis's speech was very beautiful. "I think
him the very best speaker I ever heard," said C. D. " I
am sure he would produce a great effect in England from
the sympathetic quality he possesses." I have seldom
seen a finer exercise of energy of will than Mr. Dickens's
attendance on this dinner. It brought its own reward,
too, for he returned with his foot feeling better. He
made a rum punch in his room, where we sat until one
WITH DICKENS IN AMERICA 185
o'clock. After repeating his speech, he gave us an imi-
tation of old Rogers as he would repeat a quatrain : — •
"The French have sense in what they do
Which we are quite without.
For what in Paris they call goUt
In England we call gout."
Mr. Dolby sat at dinner near a poor bohemian of great
keenness of mind, Henry Clapp, by name, who said some
things worthy of Rivarol or any other wittiest French-
man we might choose to select. Speaking of Horace
Greeley (the chairman at the dinner), he said : "He was
a self-made man and worshipped his creator." Of Dr.
O , a vain and popular clergyman, that "he was
continually looking for a vacancy in the Trinity." Of
Mr. Dickens, that "nothing gave him so high an idea
of Mr. Dickens's genius as the fact that he created
Uriah Heep without seeing a certain Mr. Young (who
sat near them), and Wilkins Micawber without being
acquainted with himself (Henry Clapp)." Of Henry
T that "he aimed at nothing and always hit the
mark precisely." . . .
This speech of Mr. Dickens will make a fine effect, a
reactionary effect, in the country. The enthusiasm for
him knew no bounds. Charles Norton spoke for New
England. I had a visit from him this morning as well
as from Mr. Osgood, Dolby, etc. C. D. lunched at the
Jockey Club with Dr. Barker and Donald Mitchell and
returned to dine with us. He talked of actors, artists,
and the clergy — church and religion — but was evi-
dently suffering more or less all the time with his foot,
1 86 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
yet kept up a good heart until nine o'clock, when he re-
tired to the privacy of his own room. He feels bitterly
the wrong under which English dissenters have labored
for years in being obliged not only to support their own
church interests in which they do believe, but also the
abuses of the English Church against which their whole
lives are a continual protest. He spoke of the beauty of
the landscape through which we had both been walking
and driving under a grey sky, with the eager spring
looking out among leafless branches and dancing in the
red and yellow sap. He said it had always been a fancy
of his to write a story, keeping the whole thing in the
same landscape, but picturing its constantly varying
eflfects upon men and things and chiefly, of course, upon
the minds of men. He asked me if I had ever read
Crabbe's "Lover's Ritlc." We became indignant over
a tax of five per cent which had just been laid upon the
entire proceeds of his Readings, telegraphed to Wash-
ington, and found that it was unjust and had been
taken off.
Monday^ April 20. — Attended a meeting of a new
"institution" just on foot, first called "Sorosis" and
afterwards "Woman's League" for the benefit and
mutual support of women. It was the first official meet-
ing, but it proved so unofficial that I was entertained,
and amused as well, and was able on my return to make
Mr. Dickens laugh until he declared if anything could
make him feel better for the evening that account of the
Woman's League would.
Tuesday. — I find it very difficult today to write at
WITH DICKENS IN AMERICA 187
all. Mr. Dickens is on his bed and has been unable to
rise, in spite of efforts all day long. . . . Mr. Norton
has been here and we have been obliged to go out, but
our hearts have been in that other room all the time
where our dear friend lies suffering. . . . Oh ! these
last times — what heartbreak there is in the words. I
lay awake since early this morning (though we did not
leave him until half-past twelve) feeling as if when I
arose we must say good-bye. How relieved I felt to
brush the tears away and know there was one more day,
but even that gain was lessened when I found he could
not rise and even this must be a day of separation too.
When Jamie told him last night he felt like erecting a
statue to him because of his heroism in doing his duty
so well, he laughed and said, "No, don't ; take down one
of the old ones instead !"
The diary goes on to express the genuine sorrow of
Mrs. Fields and her husband at parting from a friend
who had so completely absorbed their affection, but in
terms which the diarist herself would have been the
first to regard as more suitable for manuscript than for
print. The pages that contain them throw more light
upon Mrs. Fields — a warm and tender light it is —
than upon Dickens. There is, however, one paragraph,
written after the Fieldses had returned to Boston from
New York, which tells something both of Dickens and
of Queen Victoria, in whose personality the public in-
terest appears to be perpetual; and with this passage
the quotations from the diary shall end.
1 88 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
Friday^ April 24. — After the Press dinner in New
York Mr. Dickens repeated all his speech to me, as I
believe I have said above, never dropping a word. " 1
feel," he said, "as if I were listening to the sound of my
own voice as I recall it. A very curious sensation."
Jamie asked him if Curtis was quite right in the facts of
his speech. He said, "Not altogether, as, for instance,
in that matter about the Queen and our little play,
'Frozen Deep.' We had played it many times with con-
siderable success, when the Queen heard of it and
Colonel Phipps ( ?) called upon me and said he wished
the Queen could see the play. Was there no hall which
would be appropriate for the occasion ? What did I
think of Buckingham Palace ? I replied that could not
be, for my daughters played in the piece and I had never
asked myself to be presented at court nor had I ever
taken the proper steps to introduce them there, and of
course they could not go as amateur performers where
they had never been as visitors. This seemed to trouble
him a good deal, so I said I would find some hall which
would be appropriate for the purpose and would ap-
point an evening, which I did immediately, taking the
(Jallery of Illustration and having it fitted up for the
purpose. I then drew up a list of the company, chiefly
of artists, literary and scientific men, and interesting
ladies, which I caused to be submitted to the Queen,
begging her to reject or add as she thought proper, set-
ting aside forty seats for the royal party. The whole
thing went off finely until after the first play was over,
when the Queen sent round a request that I would come
TAVISTOCK HOUSE THEATRE.
UNDER THE MANAGEMENT OF MR. CHARLES DICKENS.
Ok Tuet/th Night, Turtday, January dth, 1857, at a (juAiiTEn defobe 8 o'clock. Kill be pramltd
AN ENTIRELY NEW
ROMANTIC DRAMA, IN THREE ACTS, BY MU. WII.KIE COLLINS.
THE FROZEN DEEP.
Tht Jfachintry and I'ntpertia by Mr. Ibelasd, of the Theatre Royal, Addphi. The Vretiei \y Messrs. NAinAS,
of Titchboume Street, JIaymaiket. Perruquicr, Mr. Wilson, of the Strand.
THE PROLOGUE WILL DE DELIVERED BY MR. JOUN' FORSTER.
CAVTATH EUSVlomil, of The Sea Mew .... Jin. Edivard Piaorr.
CAPTAIN HELDINO,o/'«e ir.inrffrcr Mr. Alfred Dickens.
LIEUTENANT CRAYFORD ........ Mr. Mark Lemon.
FRANK ALbERSLEY Mr. Wilkie Collins.
RICHARD WARDOUR Mr. Ciurles Dickens.
LIEUTENANT STEVENTON Mr. Youno Charles.
JOHN AVANT, Shipt Cook Mr. Auoustcs Eoo, A.R.A.
BATESON) „ ,-,,£,,,.„, (Mr. EiiwARD Hooartii.
DARKER I ^"^ "-^ ^''^ ''" ''"'■' '''"'''' • • • • } Mr. Frederick Evans.
(Officers and Crews of Thc Sea Mew and Wanderer.)
MRS. STEVENTON Miss Helen.
ROSE EBSWORTH JIiss Kate.
LUCY CRAYFORD Miss Hogarth.
CLARA BURNHAM Miss Marv.
NURSE ESTHER Mrs. Wills.
MAID Miss Martha.
THE SCENERY AND SCENIC EFFECTS OF THE FIRST ACT, BY MR. TELBIN.
THE SCENERY AND SCENIC EFFECTS OF THE SECOND AND THIRD ACTS, BY Mr. STANFIELD, R.A.
ASSISTED BY MR. DANSON.
THE ACr-DROP, ALSO BY Mr. STANFIELD, B.A.
AT THE END OF THE PLAY, HALF-AN-HOUR FOR REFRESHMENT.
To Conclude Willi Mob. iNcuoALD'a Fsrcc, in T«o Acti, of
ANIMAL MAGNETISM.
(THE SCENE LS LAID m SEVILLE. )
THE DOCTOR Mr. CnAnLES Dickess.
PEDRILLO Mr. Mark LF.aoN.
THE MAIIQOIS DE LA OUARDIA Mr. YoLiia Charles.
CREGORIO Mr. Wilkie Colllns.
CAMILLA Mira Kate.
JACINTHA Miss Hooarth.
Musical Compoaer and Conductor of the Orchestra— Mr. FRANCESCO BERGER, who will
preside at the Piano.
CARRIAGES MAY DE ORDERED AT IIALP.PAST ELEVEN,
000 SAVE THE QUEEN!
FACSIMILE PLAY-BILL OF "THE FROZEN DEEP," WITH DICKENS AS
ACTOR-MANAGER
WITH DICKENS IN AMERICA 189
and see her. This was considered an act of immense con-
descension and kindness on her part, and the Httle party
behind the scenes were delighted. Unfortunately, I had
just prepared myself for the farce which was to follow
and was already standing in motley dress with a red
nose. I knew I could not appear in that plight, so I
begged leave to be excused on that ground. However,
that was forgiven and all passed off well, although the
large expense of the whole thing of course fell on me,
which amounted to one hundred and fifty or two hun-
dred pounds. Several years after, when Prince Albert
died, the Queen sent to me for a copy of the play. I told
Colonel Phipps the play had never been printed and
was the property of a gentleman, Mr. Wilkie Collins.
Then would I have it copied ? So 1 had a very beautiful
copy made and bound in the most perfect manner, and
presented to her Majesty. Whereupon the Princess of
Prussia, seeing this, asked for another for herself. I said
I would again ask the permission of Mr. Collins and
again I had a beautiful with copy made great labor.
Then the Queen sent to ask the price of the books. I
sent word that my friend, Mr. Wilkie Collins, was a
gentleman who would, I was sure, hear to nothing of the
kind and begged her acceptance of the volumes. " "How
has the Queen shown her gratitude for such favors ?" I
said. "We have never heard anything more from her
since that time." Good Mr. Dolby said quietly, "You
know in England we call her 'Her Ungracious Maj-
esty.'" Certainly one would not have believed it pos-
sible for even a queen's nature to have become so
I90 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
hardened as this to the kindly acts of any human being,
not to speak of the efforts of one of her most noble sub-
jects and perhaps the greatest genius of our time.
If any reader wishes to follow the further course of
the friendship between Dickens and the Fieldses, he has
only to turn to "Yesterdays with Authors," in which
many letters written by Dickens after April, 1868, are
quoted, and many remembrances of their intercourse
when the Fieldses visited England in 1869, the year
before Dickens's death, are presented. Here it will
suffice to quote one out of several passages in Mrs.
Fields's diary relating to Dickens, and to bring to light
a single characteristic little note from Dickens, not
hitherto printed.
On Wednesday, May 12, 1869, Mrs. Fields wrote of
Dickens : —
He drove us through the Parks in the fashionable
afternoon hour and afterward to dine with him at the
St. James, where Fcchter and Dolby were the only out-
siders. Mrs. Collins was like one of Stothard's pictures.
I felt this more even after refreshing my memory of
Stothard's coloring at the Kensington Museum yester-
day. C. D. told me that the book of all others which he
read perpetually and of which he never tired, the book
which always appeared more imaginative in proportion
to the fresh imagination he brings to it, a book for in-
exhaustiveness to be placed before every other book, is
Carlyle's "French Revolution." When he was writing
WITH DICKENS IN AMERICA 191
"A Tale of Two Cities," he asked Carlyle if he might
see some book to which he referred in his history.
Whereat Carlyle sent down to him all his books, and
Dickens read them faithfully ; but the more he read the
more he was astounded to find how the facts but passed
through the alembic of Carlyle's brain and had come
out and fitted themselves each as a part of the one great
whole, making a compact result, indestructible and un-
rivalled, and he always found himself turning away
from the books of reference and rereading this marvel-
lous new growth from those dry bones with renewed
wonder.
The note from Dickens read : —
Gad's Hill Place
HiGHAM BY Rochester, Kent
Wednesday Sixth October^ 1869
Mv DEAR Fields : —
Delighted to enjoy the prospect of seeing you and
yours on Saturday. Wish you had been at Birming-
ham. Wish you were not going home. Wish you had
had nothing to do with the Byron matter.^ Wish Mrs.
Stowe was in the pillory. Wish Fechter had gone over
when he ought. Wish he may not go under when he
ought n't.
With love,
Ever affectionately yours,
Charles Dickens
1 Mrs. Stowe's unhappily historic article on "The True Story of Lady
Byron's Life" appeared in the Atlantic Monthly for September, 1869.
J^igbam bj |la£btster,JKtnt.
fca.<^.
pU<^^^^(,f^2jl^^^^ji^,Q^^^
Facsimile note Jrom Dickens to FieUs
WITH DICKENS IN AMERICA 193
Among the papers preserved by Mrs. Fields there are,
besides the manuscript letters of Dickens himself, many-
letters written after his death by his sister-in-law. Miss
Georgina Hogarth. From bits of these, and especially
from a letter written by Dickens's daughter, while his
death was still a poignant grief, the affection in which
he was held in his own household is touchingly imaged
forth.
"All the Old World," wrote Miss Dickens, "all the
New World loved him. He never had anything to do
with a living soul without attaching them to him. If
strangers could so love him, you can tell a little what he
must have been to his own flesh and blood. It is a
glorious inheritance to have such blood flowing in one's
veins. I 'm so glad I have never changed my name." I
From one of Miss Hogarth's letters a single passage
may be taken, since it adds something of first-hand
knowledge to the accessible facts about one piece of
Dickens's writing which — in so far as the editor of
these pages is aware — has never seen the light of
print. This letter was written in the September after
Dickens's death :
"I must now tell you about the beautiful little New
Testament which he wrote for his children. I am sorry
to say it is never to be published. It happens that he ex-
pressed that decided determination only last autumn to
me, so we have no alternative. He wrote it years ago
when his elder children were quite little. It is about
sixteen short chapters, chiefly adapted from St. Luke's
Gospel, most beautiful, most touching, most simple, as
194 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
such a narrative should be. He never would have it
printed and I used to read it to the little boys in MS.
before they were old enough to read ivriting themselves.
When Charley's children became old enough to have
this kind of teaching, I promised Bessy (his wife) that
I would make her a copy of this History, and I deter-
mined to do it as a Christmas Gift for her last year, but
before I began my copy I asked Charles if he did not
think it would be well for him to have it printed, at all
events for private circulation, if he would not publish it
(though I think it is a pity he would never do that !).
He said he would look over the MS, and take a week or
two to consider. At the end of the time he gave it back
to me and said he had decided never to publish it — or
even have it privately printed. He said I might make a
copy for Bessy, or for any one of his children, but for no
one else, and that he also begged that we would never
even lend the MS,, or a copy of it, to any one to take
out of the house ; so there is no doubt about his strong
feeling on the subject, and we must obey it. I made my
copy for Bessy and gave it to her last Christmas. After
his death the original MS. became rnine. .As it was never
published, of course it did not count as one of Mr.
Forster's MSS., and therefore it was one of his private
papers, which were left to me. So I gave it at once to
Mamie, who was, I thought, the most natural and
proper possessor of it, as being his eldest daughter. You
must come to England and read it, dear Friend ! as we
must not send it to you ! We should be glad to see you
and to show it to you and Mr. Fields in our own house."
WITH DICKENS IN AMERICA 195
Miss Hogarth must have known full well that, if this
manuscript Gospel according to Charles Dickens was
to be shown to anybody outside his immediate circle,
he himself would have chosen the Charles Street friends
from what he called — to them — his "native Boston."
VI
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS
Had anyone crossed the Charles Street threshold of
the Fieldses with the expectation of encountering within
none but the New England Augustans, he would soon
have found himself happily disillusioned, even at a
time when there was no Dickens in Boston. As it was
in reality, so must it be in these pages, if they are to ful-
fill their purpose of restoring a vanished scene, the
variety of which must indeed be counted among its
most distinctive characteristics. The pages that follow
will accordingly serve to illustrate the familiar fact that
the pudding of a "family party" is often rendered the
more acceptable by the introduction of a few plums not
plucked from the domestic tree.
Mrs. Fields once noted in her diary the circumstance
that, when her husband came to Boston from Ports-
mouth at the age of fourteen, and began to work as a
"boy" in the bookshop of Carter & Hcndee, the second
of these employers had a box at the theatre and, to keep
his young employees happy, used constantly to ask one
or more of them to see a play in his company. Thus
enabled in his youth to see such actors as the elder
Booth, Fanny Kemble and her father, and many others
of the best players to be seen in America at the time,
Fields acquired a love of the theatre and of stage folk
which stood him in good stead throughout his life. A
JAMES T. FIELDS AT FIFTEEN
From a drawing by a French painter
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 197
certain exuberance In his own nature must have sought
a response in social contacts other than those of the
straiter sect of his local contemporaries. In men and
women of the stage, in authors from beyond the com-
pass of the local horizon, writers with whom he formed
relations in his double capacity of editor and publisher,
in artists and public men outside the immediate "liter-
ary" circle of Boston, Fields took an unceasing delight,
shared by his wife, and still communicable through her
journals.
From their pages, then, I propose to assemble here a
group of passages relating first to stage folk, and then
to others, and, since these records so largely explain
themselves, to burden them as lightly as possible with
explanations. Slender as certain of the entries are, each
contributes something to a recovery of the time and of
the persons that graced it.
Thomas Bailey Aldrich, says his biographer, used to
declare in his later years, "Though I am not genuine
Boston, I am Boston-plated." His intimate relation
with Boston began in 1865, through the publication of
a "Blue and Gold" edition of his poems by the firm
of which Fields was a member, and the beginning of
his editorship of "Every Saturday," an illustrated
journal issued under the same auspices. His range of
acquaintance before that time was such that when the
"plating" process began, — it was really more like a
transmutation of metals, — he sometimes served as a
198 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
sympathetic link between his new Boston and his old
New York. It was in New York, only a few weeks
after the assassination of Lincoln, that Aldrich appears
in the diary, fresh from seeing his friend, Edwin
Booth.
May 3, 1865. — An hour before we went to tea,
Aldrich came to see us. He said he and Launt Thomp-
son were staying with Edwin Booth alternate nights
during this season of sorrow; that it was "all right
between himself and the lady he was about to marry."
Then he described to us the first night while Booth was
plunged in agony. He said the gas was left burning low
and the bed stood in the corner, just where he lay sleep-
less, looking at a fearfully good crayon portrait of Wilkes
Booth which glared at him over the gas. Launt Thomp-
son started with the mother from New York for Phila-
delphia, where she was going to join her daughter the
day that John Wilkes was shot, and an extra containing
the news was brought them by a newsboy as they
stepped on the ferry-boat. The old woman would have
the paper. "He was her 'Johnny' after all," said T. B. A.
Friday. — Have seen a lady who knows the person to
whom Booth is engaged — said that her letter telling
him she was true passed his letter of relinquishment on
its way to Philadelphia. She thinks these two women
have saved Booth. "I have been loved too well," he
said once. . . .
Aldrich said we should not have been more aston-
ished to hear he himself had done the terrible deed than
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 199
he was to know Wilkes Booth had done it. "He was so
gentle, gentler than I, and very handsome — a slight,
beautiful figure," and (as he described the face, it was
the Greek Antinous kind of beauty there) I could not
but reflect how the deed may deform the man. Nobody
said he was beautiful after he was dead, but they laid a
cloth upon the face and said how dreadful. It has been
a strange experience to come among the people who
know the family. I hoped I should be spared this, but
the soul of good in things evil God means we should all
see.
Sunday^ May 7. — A radiant day. Went to hear Dr.
Bellows — a grand discourse. After service sat in his
drawing-room and talked and then walked together. . . .
He too has been to see Edwin Booth. The poor fellow
said to him, "Ah ! if it had been a fellow like myself
who had done this dreadful deed, the world would not
have wondered — but Johnny ! !"
Wednesday^ January 3, 1866. — Dined with the
Grahams and went to see Booth upon the occasion of
his reappearance. The unmoved sadness of the young
man and the unceasing plaudits of the house, half filled
with his friends, were impressive and made it an oc-
casion not to be forgotten.
September 23, 1866. — Edwin Booth and the Al-
driches came to tea ; also Tom Beal and Professor
Sterry Hunt of Montreal, the latter late. Booth came
in the twilight while a magnificent red and purple and
gold sunset was staining the bay. The schooners an-
chored just off shore had already lighted their lanterns
200 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
and swung them in the rigging, and the full moon cast
a silver sheen over the scene. I hear he passes every
Sunday morning while here at the grave of his wife in
Mt. Auburn. He seems deeply saddened. He was very
pleasant, however, and ready to talk, and gave amusing
imitations — in particular of his black boy, Jan, who
possesses, he says, the one accomplishment of forget-
ting everything he ought to remember. One day a man
with a deep tragic voice, " Forrestian," he said, came to
him with letters of introduction asking Mr. Booth to
assist him as he was about to go to England. Mr. B.
told him he knew no one in England and could do noth-
ing for him, he was sorry. If he ever found it possible to
do him a service he would with pleasure. With that Mr.
B. turned, — they were in the vestibule of the theatre —
and entered the box-office to speak to someone there;
immediately he heard the deep voice addressing Jan
with "You arc with Mr. Booth." "Yes," responded Jan
with real negro accent, "I 'm wid Mr. Booth." "In
what capacity — arc you studying ?" " Yaas," returned
Jan, unblushingly, " I 'se studyin'." "What are you
upon now?" "Oh, Richelieu, Hamlet, an' a few of
dese yer." " Ah, I should be pleased to enter into corre-
spondence with you while I am abroad. Would you have
any objections?" "Oh, no, no objection, no objection
at all." "Thank you, sir; good-day, sir." With that
they parted and Jan came with his mouth stretched
wide with laughter. "Massa, what is 'correspond'?
I told him I 'd correspond, what 'd he mean, corre-
spond ?" Then Jan, convulsed with his joke, roared and
^^/^h^^u^
^^U^^t^^^^^
Facsimile note from Booth to Mrs. Fields
202 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
roared again. They are surely a merry race, but pro-
voking enough sometimes. They are capable of real
attachments, however; this man has been several
times dismissed but will not go. Booth told everything
very dramatically, but I was especially struck with his
description of a man travelling with two shaggy terrier
pups in the cars. He had them in a basket and hung
them up over his head and then composed himself to
sleep. Waking up half an hour later, he observed a man
on the opposite side of the car, his eyes starting from
his head and the very picture of dismay, as if a demon
were looking at him. The owner of the pups, following
the direction of the man's eyes, looked up and saw the
two pups had their heads out of the basket. He quietly
made a sign for them to go back and they disappeared.
The man's gaze did not apparently slacken, however,
but in a moment became still more horrified when the
pups again looked out. "What *s the matter ?" said the
owner. "What are those ?" said the man, pointing with
trembling finger; "pray excuse mc, but I have been on
a spree and I thought they were demons." He intro-
duced the subject o\ the stage and talked of points in
"Hamlet," which he had made for the first time, but
occasionally through accident had omitted. The next
day he will be sure to be asked by letter or newspaper
why he omits certain points which would be so excel-
lent to make, l/ie writer thinks. He has had a life of
strange vicissitudes, as almost all actors. He referred
last night to his frequent travels during childhood over
the Allcghanics with his father, of long nights spent in
■
■k J/KjK^Kt^Jnl
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m
%
BfllrBdn^U''
1^^ ^L^^^^^^^^Br
BOOTH Ay HAMLET
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 203
this kind of travel ; and once in Nevada he walked fifty
miles chiefly through snow. "Why?" said Lilian. "Be-
cause I was hard up, Lily," he continued ; "I walked it
too in stage boots which were too tight — it was mis-
ery." . . .
They had all gone by half-past ten, but we lay long
awake thinking over poor Booth and his strange sad
fortune. Hamlet, indeed! — although Forceythe Will-
son says, "I have been to see Mr. Hamlet play Booth."
Yes, perhaps when he is playing it for the 400th time
with a bad cold, it may seem so ; indeed I found it dull-
ish myself, or his part, I mean, the other night ; but he
did play it once — the night ot his reappearance in New
York.
May 18, 1869. — Last Sunday evening Booth, Al-
drich and his wife and sister. Dr. Holmes and Amelia
and Launt Thompson, Leslie and ourselves took tea
here together. In the evening came Mr. and Mrs. Emer-
son. We did have a rare and delightful symposium.
Booth talked little as usual, and the next night went
round to Aldrich's and took himself off as he behaves in
company ! ! Nevertheless he was glad to see Holmes,
though every time Dr. H. addressed him across the table
he seemed to receive an electric shock.
A chance meeting between William Warren and
Fields in a lane at the seaside Manchester is re-
corded, with their talk, in the diary as early as 1865.
Two entries in 1872 have to do with Jefferson, first
204 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
alone and then with Warren. The friendship with
Jefferson, begun so long ago, was continued until his
death.
Tuesday, March i8, 1872. — Left Boston for a short
trip to New York. Jefferson the actor, famous through-
out the world for his impersonation of "Rip Van
WinkJe," was on the train and finding us out (or J.
him), came to our compartment car to pass the day.
He talked without cessation and without effort. He
described his sudden disease of the eyes quite bravely
and simply, from the use of too much whiskey. He said
the newspapers had said it was the gas, and many other
reasons had been assigned first and last; but he firmly
believed there was no other reason than too much
whiskey. He had taken the habit — when he was some-
what below his ordinary physical and mental condition
in the evening and wished to rise to the proper point
and "carry the audience" — of taking a small glass of
whiskey. This glass was after a time made two, and
even three or four. Finally he was stricken down by a
trouble of the eyes which threatened the entire extinc-
tion of sight. His physician at once suggested that un-
natural use of stimulants was the cause, of which he
himself is now entirely convinced and no longer touches
anything stronger than claret. He has played to a
larger variety of audiences probably than almost any
other great actor. The immense applause he received
in England, where he played 170 consecutive nights at
the Adelphi in London, always as "Rip," has only
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 205
served to make him more modest, it would seem, more
desirous to uphold himself artistically. He gave us a
hint of his taste for fishing and described his trout-rais-
ing establishment in Jersey ; very curious and wonder-
ful it was. Nature preserves only one in a hundred of
the eggs of trout to come to maturity. Mr. Jefferson
in his pond is able to raise 85 out of 100. There seems
no delight to him so great as that of sitting beside a
stream on a sunny day, line in hand.
Talking of the everlasting repetition of "Rip," he
says he should be thankful to rest himself with another
play, but this has been a growth and it would be a dar-
ing thing for him to attempt anything new with a public
who would always compare him with himself in this play
which is the result of years of his best thought and
strength. I think myself, if he were quite v/ell he would
be almost sure to attempt something else. He told us
several stories very dramatically. He is an odd, care-
lessly dressed little mortal, a cross between Charles
Lamb and Grimaldi, but we have seldom passed a more
delightful day of talk than with him. The hours abso-
lutely fled away.
Wednesday , May 22, 1872. — Mr. Longfellow, Dr.
Holmes, and Jefferson and Warren, the two first come-
dians of our time, dined here. The hour was three
o'clock, to accommodate the two professional gentlemen.
The hours until three, with the exception of two visits
(Miss Sara Clarke and Miss Wainwright in spite of say-
ing "engaged"), were occupied in making preparations
for the little feast. I mean the hours after breakfast until
2o6 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
time to dress. (Of hours before breakfast I have now-a-
days nothing to say. I am not strong enough to do any-
thing early, but country life this summer is to change all
that.) Mr. Jefferson and Mr. Warren arrived first.
Finding much to interest them in the pictures of our
lower room, they lingered there a few moments before
coming to the library, when we talked of Marney's pic-
tures (Mr. J. owns some of his water-colors) and looked
about at others. Soon Longfellow came with Jamie.
He said he felt like one on a journey. He left home early
in the morning, had been sight-seeing in Boston all day,
was to dine and go to the theatre with us afterward.
He asked Mr, Warren why a Mr. Inglis was selling his
fine library and pictures — a question nobody had been
able to solve. Mr. Inglis is, however, in some way con-
nected with the stage, and Warren told us it was because
he had been arrested with Mr. Harvey Parker and
others and condemned to be thrown in the House of
Correction, for selling liquor. His money protected him
from the rigor of the law, but the disgrace remained. His
children felt it much and he was going to Europe at
least for a season. We could not help feeling the injus-
tice of this when we remembered the myriad liijuor
shops for the poor all over the town, with which no one
interferes.
Mr. Jefferson was deeply interested in our pictures of
the players by Zanafois. Dr. Holmes came in, talked a
littJe at my suggestion about Anne Whitney's bust of
Keats, which he appears to know nothing about artis-
tically (I observed the same lack of knowledge in Emer-
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 207
son), but he criticised the hair. He said he supposed
nothing was known about Keats's hair, so it might as
well be one way as another. I told him on the contrary
I owned some of it ; whereat I got it out, and he went
off in a little episode about an essay which he had some-
times thought of writing about hair. He has a machine
by which the size of a hair can be measured and re-
corded. This he would like to use, and make a note of
comparison between the hairs of "G. W. " (as he laugh-
ingly called Washington), Jefferson, Milton, and other
celebrities of the earth. He thought it might be very
curious to discover the difference in quality.
We were soon seated at the table (only six all told)
where the conversation never flagged. Longfellow prop-
erly began it by saying he thought Mr. Charles Mathews
was entirely unjust to Mr. Forrest as King Lear. He
considered Mr. Forrest's rendering of the part, and he
sat through the whole, as fine and close to nature. He
could not understand Mr. Mathews's underrating it as
he did. Of course the other two gentlemen could say
nothing more than the difficulty Mr. Mathews from
his nature would have in estimating at its proper worth
anything Mr. For.rest might do, their idea of Art being
so dissimilar. Here arose the question if one actor was a
good judge of another. Jefferson said he sometimes
thought actors very bad judges — indeed he preferred
to be judged by an audience inspired by feeUng rather
than by one intellectually critical.
Jefferson has a clear blue eye, very fine and bright
and sweet. Longfellow thinks his mouth a very weak
2o8 MEMORIES OK A llUSl ESS
one, and certainly his face is not impressive. Warren
appears a man of finer intellect and more wit. He had
many witty things to say and his little tales were always
dramatically given. Dr. Holmes could not seem to re-
cover from the idea that Jefferson had made a fortune
out of one play and that he never played but one. "I
hear, Mr. Jefferson," he said, when he first came in,
"that you have been playing the same play ever since
you came here." (He has been playing the same for a
dozen years, I believe, nearly — and has been here three
weeks!) Jefferson could hardly help laughing as he as-
sured him that for the space of three weeks he had given
the same every night. Dr. Holmes had a way at the
table of talking of "you actors," "you gentlemen of the
stage," until I saw Longfellow was quite disturbed at
the unsympathetic unmanncrliness of it, in appearance,
and tried to talk more than ever in a different strain.
After I left the table, which I did because I thought
they might like to smoke, Jamie sent for Parsons's
poems and read them some of the finest. Of course the
talk was wittier and quicker as the time came to sep-
arate, but I cannot report upon it. The impression the
two actors left upon me, however, was rather that of
men who enjoyed coming up to the surface to breathe a
natural air seldom vouchsafed to them than of men
sparring with their wits — they are affectionate, gentle,
subdued gentlemen and a noble contrast to the self-
opinionated ignorance which we often meet in society.
Dr. Holmes was, however, the wit of the occasion, as he
always is, and everybody richly enjoyed his sallies.
JEFFERSON IN THE BETROTHAL SCENE OF "RIP VAN WINKLE"
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 209
They stayed until the last moment — indeed I do not
see how they got to their two theatres in time to dress.
It must have been, as they say of eggs, a "hard scrab-
ble." We went afterward — we four — to see a new
actor, Raymond, play "Colleen Bawn" at the Globe —
pretty play, though very touching and melodramatic,
by Boucicault. I must confess to dislike such plays
where your feelings are wrought to the highest pitch
for nothing.
The name of Fechter is familiar to the middle-aged
through the memory of fathers, to the young through
that of grandfathers. Readers of these pages will recall
that Dickens, soon after reaching America in 1867,
spoke of him in terms which caused Mrs. Fields to
look forward with confidence to a new friendship. His
coming to America was specifically heralded by an ar-
ticle, "On Mr. Fechter's Acting," contributed by Dick-
ens to the "Atlantic " for August, 1 869. When Fechter
was in Boston, warmly received as Dickens's friend,
he often appears in the journals of Mrs. Fields, in con-
junction with others.
Friday^ February 25, 1870. — Mr. Fechter came to
lunch with Mr. Longfellow, Mr. Appleton, Mr. and Mrs.
Dorr. He talked freely about his Hamlet, so different
from all other impersonations. His audience here he
finds wonderfully good, better than any other; fine
points which have never been applauded before bring
iio MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
out a round of applause. On the whole he appears to
enjoy new hearers — does not understand the constant
comparison between himself and Booth. They are al-
ready great friends. Booth was in the house the last
night of his performance there ; afterward he did not
come to speak to him, and Fechter felt it ; but a letter
came yesterday saying he was so observed that he
slipped away as soon as possible, and could not come on
Sunday because visitors prevented him. Better late
than never; it was pleasant to Fechter to hear from
Booth — with one exception : he enclosed a notice from
some newspaper, cutting up himself horribly and prais-
ing Fechter. "Ah ! that won't do; I shall send it back
to him and tell him why. We are totally unlike in our
Hamlets, and neither should be praised at the other's
expense."
Mr. Fcthter described minutely Mr. Dickens's at-
tack of paralysis last year, ami, the year before, his
prompt appearance in the box of the theatre at the last
performance of "No Thoroughfare," which he said he
should do; but as Fechter had not heard of his return
from America, it was a great shock. "If it had been
' Hamlet,' or any difficult play, I could i}ot have gone on !
He should not have done such a thing." He told us a
strange touching story of M'lle Mars, during her last
years. She came upon the stage one night to give one
of the youthful parts in which she had once been so
famous. When she appeared, some heartless wretch
threw her a wreath of immortelles, as if for her grave.
She was so shocked that the drops stood on her brow.
^:^/^
A NAST CARTOON OF DICKENS AND FECHTER
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 211
the rouge fell from her cheeks, and she stood motionless
before the audience, a picture of age and misery. She
could not continue her part.
He spoke with intense enthusiasm of Frederick
Lemaitre, much as I have heard Mr. Dickens do. "The
second-class actors were always arguing with him (only
second-class people argue) and saying, 'Why do you
wish me to stand here, Frederick ?' *I don't know,' he
would say, 'only do it.'"
Mr. Appleton was deeply interested in the fact that
Shakespeare proved himself such a believer in ghosts,
as "Hamlet" shows, and would like to push the sub-
ject farther, Mr. Fechter evidently finding much to say
on this topic also. Mr. Longfellow was interested to ask
about the Dumas, pere et fih. Mr. Fechter has known
them well and has many queer stories to tell of their
relation to each other. Lefils calls mon pere^ " my young-
est child born many years ago," and the father usually
introduces the son as M. Dumas, mon pere. The motto
on Fechter's note paper is very curious and a type of the
man — *' Faiblesse vaut vice." Mr. Longfellow spoke
again of Mr. Dickens's restlessness, of his terrible sad-
ness. "Yes, yes," said Fechter, "all his fame goes for
nothing." . . .
Jamie is so weak that he went to sleep almost as soon
as they were gone. God knows what it all means ; I do
not.
It is odd that Fechter's eyes should be brown after all.
They look so light in the play. He is a round little man,
naturally friendly, spontaneous. We do not know what
212 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
his life has been, and we will not ask ; that does not rest
with us; but he is a very fine artist. His imitation of
Mr. Dickens, as he sat on the lawn watching him at
work, or as he joined him coming from his desk at lunch-
time with tears on his cheek and a smile on his mouth,
was very close to the life and delightful.
Mr. Longfellow did not talk much, not as much as the
last time he was here, but he was lovely and kind.' He
brought a coin of the French Republic which had been
touched by French wit, Liherti x (point), Egal'itc x
(point), Fratcrmtt x (point). \\\A more to the same
effect, without altering the coin.
Appleton has just bought a new Troyon, wliich he
says he shall lend me for a week.
At the end of the following August there is a record of
a talk with Fechter on the boat from Boston to Nahant,
where he and the Fieldses dined with Longfellow,
Dickens had died in the June just past, and Fechter had
much to say of him and his family life. "Day by day,"
wrote Mrs. Fields, "I am grateful to think of him at
rest." The little party at Nahant is described.
•On April 20, 1870, Ivongfcllow wrote to Fields (Sec Ijje oj Utnry ICads-
vaorth Ijonfjellow^ etc., edited by Samuel Longfellow, III, I48) ; —
"Sumc Kngli&h poet has said or sung:
'At the close of the day, when the hamlet is still,
And mortals the sweets of forget fulness prove."
"I wish Hamlet would be still ! I wish I coulil prove the sweets of forgct-
fulness ! I wish Fechter would depart into infinite space, and 'leave, oh, leave
me to repose!' When will this disturbing star disappear, and suffer the
domestic planetary system to move on in the ordinary course and keep time
with the old clock in the corner ?"
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 213
We found dear Longfellow looking through a glass to
espy our approach, and all his dear little girls and
Ernest and his wife and Appleton, who whisked me
away from the dinner-table to his studio where he
had some really good sketches. The conversation at
table was half French, Longfellow and Appleton both
finding it agreeable to recall the foreign scenes by
the foreign tongue. But except a queer imitation of
John Forster, by Fechter, I do not remember any
quotable talk. F. said Forster always looked at every-
body as if regarding their qualifications for a lunatic
asylum (he is commissioner of lunacy), saying to him-
self, "Well, I'll let you off today ^ but tomorrow you
must certainly go and be shut up." He describes For-
ster's present state of health as something very pre-
carious and wretched.
November 14, 1870. — Monday night went to see
Fechter in "Claude Melnotte." Longfellow and his
daughter Edith sat in the box adjoining ours. It was
the stage box where they were sheltered from observa-
tion ; ours was the box next it, to be sure, but accessible
to all eyes. During the curtain Longfellow came into
our box ; Mrs. Holmes and Mrs. Andrew were with me,
both plain ladies dressed in mourning. His advent
caused a little rustle of curiosity to ripple over the
house. Longfellow was never looking finer than he is
today. His white hair and deep blue eyes and kind
face make his presence a benediction wherever he
goes — of such men one cannot help feeling what Dr.
Putnam so well expressed last Sunday in speaking
214 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
of the presence of our Lord at a feast. "He rewarded
the hospitality of his friends by his presence."
Longfellow brought an illegible scrawl in his hand
which Parsons had written from London to Lunt. He
told me also of having lately received a photograph
from Virginia of a young woman, and written under it
were the words, "What fault can be found with this?"
He said he thought of replying, "The fault of too great
youth." It certainly could not be agreeable to him to
sit in the eye of the audience as he did ; but he was very
talkative and pleasant, expressed his disappointment at
not having us at his Nilsson dinner, but his family
were too many for him ; said how he liked her for her
frankness ; told me of the old impressario Garrett, the
Jew, coming without invitation and certainly without
being wanted (as it sent "his children upstairs to
dine"); and then, as the play was about to begin, he
withdrew. He was much amused and disgusted by the
platitudes of the play. Returned to his own box, Jamie
said he laughed immoderately over the absurdities of it
as it continued. He tooted as the instruments tooted
and spouted as the second-rate actors spouted, all of
which was highly amusing to Edith, who was weeping
over the unhappy lovers, utterly absorbed in the play.
Mrs. Holmes and Mrs. Andrew, too, were full of tears,
ami I found it no use attempting to say anything more
during the evening.
Fcchter was indeed marvellous. He raised the play
into something human, something exquisite whenever
he was upon the stage. His terrible earnestness sweeps
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 215
the audience utterly away. But he is not the player for
the million.
Sunday evening^ December 11, 1870. — Went to Mr.
Bartol's and met Mr. Collyer. He was pleased to hear
what Fechter said of him Saturday night (by the by we
met Fechter at Mrs. Dorr's dinner on Saturday), that
he singled him out, found him a capital audience, and
played to him. It was a fine house on Saturday and
Fechter played '' Don Caesar." It was never played bet-
ter. Curtis was there, and fine company. Fechter was
graceful and saucy too in talk at dinner — just right
for the occasion.
Monday^ December 19. — I have just returned from
seeing Fechter in "Ruy Bias." The public has just
received the news that he is to leave the Globe Theatre
and Boston in four weeks. The result was an enormous
house, and the most fashionable house I have seen this
season. He played with great fire and ease, but he has a
wretched cold and his pronunciation was so thick and
French (as it is apt to be when he is excited) that I
could often hardly catch a word. But his audience was
determined to be pleased and they caught and ap-
plauded all his good points. I saw but one dissenting
spirit, that was a spoiled queen of fashion just returned
from Europe, who saw nobody and nothing but her-
self. . . .
Saturday, January 7, 1871. — Dined at Mr. Long-
fellow's with Mr. Fechter. The poet welcomed us with
a cordiality peculiar to himself and his children, with a
simple glad-to-see written over their faces which is
2i6 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
worth a world of talk. We had a merry table-talk al-
though Fechter was laboring under the unnatural ex-
citement of his position in having lost his season at the
Globe, broken with the proprietor Cheney who was his
friend, and finding himself without an engagement for
the time. Also, so mischance held the day, Miss Le-
clercq, his only fit support, injured herself in the
afternoon and their superb audience went away disap-
pointed. However, the dinner went off beautifully, as it
always must with Longfellow at the helm. There was
some talk of poetry and the drama and J. amused them
too with anecdotes. Then we adjourned to the room of
Charles the East-India man, where we saw many curios-
ities and had a very pleasant hour before leaving. Pass-
ing through the dressing-room of our dear Longfellow, I
was struck with seeing how like the house of a German
student it was — a Gocthcan aspect of simplicity and
largeness everywhere — books too are put on all the
walls. It is surely a most attractive house.
January ij, 1871. — Today Jamie lunched with
Appleton. We passed the evening at Mrs. Quincy's. It
is the great benefit to Fechter, but in consequence of
the tickets being sold unjustly at auction, we shall not
go. Unhappily there are rumors about town that
Fechter is to be insulted in the theatre. I wish I could
get word to him. I shall wait until J. gets home and
then ask him to drive up to put F. on his guard.
January 2j. — It proved an unnecessary alarm ! The
evening went off well enough but unenthusiastically,
and at last Fechter gave all the money to the poor !
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 217
When Mrs. Fields first met that representative of
the once alluring art of "elocution," James E. Mur-
doch, he was already a veteran who had twice, at
an interval of nearly twenty years, retired from the
stage. Two notes about him recall his robust person-
ality.
January 13, 1867. — I never met James E. Murdoch,
the actor, to hear any talk until Sunday night. The
knowledge of his patriotism, of his son who died in the
war, and of the weary miles the father had travelled to
comfort the soldiers by reading to them, and afterwards
the large sums of money he had given to the country's
cause gathered up laboriously night by night by public
"readings" — all this I had known. Of course no intro-
duction could have been better, yet I liked the man even
more than I had fancied was possible. He was so modest
and talked in such a free generous way, purely for the
entertainment of others, I fancied, because v/e saw he
had a severe cold on his chest. The way too in which he
recited "Sheridan's Ride" and anything else for the
children which he thought they would like was quite
beautiful to see in a man of his years, who must have
had quite enough of that kind of thing to do. His hobby
is elocution. He is about to establish a school or col-
lege or something of that description, whatever its
honorable title will be, at the West ^ (the money having
been granted in part by legislature, the other half
to be made by his own public efforts) for the pur-
* A contemporary definition of Cincinnati.
21 8 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
pose of educating speakers and teaching men and women
how to read. He has known Grant and Sheridan well,
lived in camp with them at the same mess-table, and
has the highest opinion of the patriotism and probity
of both of them. There is no mistake about one thing.
Mr. Murdoch made himself a power during the war,
and now that is over does not cease to work, nor does
he allow himself to presume upon the laurels he has
won nor to brag of his own work.
Saturday ryioniingy November i^^, 1875. — After a
western journey, left for home. Sunday met James E.
Murdoch in the cars at Springfield. It was about six
o'clock A.M., but he was bound for Newton. He came
in therefore with us, and talked delightfully until we
parted. He is an old man but as full of nerve, vigor, and
ripened intellect as anyone whom I have seen. His talk
of the stage, of his disgust for Macready's book, his dis-
gust at the manner in which Forrest treated his wife, his
account of his own experiences, when he was glad to
play for ^J5 a week, were deeply interesting. The better
side of Forrest he understood and appreciated thor-
oughly.
The hospitalities of Charles Street were by no means
confined to the men of the theatrical and kindred
professions. In later years Miss Ellen Terry, Lady
Gregory, and those other ladies associated with the
stage who so surely found their way to Mrs. Fields's
door when they visited Boston, were but carrying on the
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STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 219
traditions of the earlier decades. As the visitors came
and went, the diary in the sixties and seventies re-
corded their exits and their entrances. A few passages
are typical of many.
A portion of the notes relating to Charlotte Cushman
will be the better understood for a preliminary remark
upon a Boston event of huge local moment in the au-
tumn of 1863. This was the dedication of the Great
Organ, that wonder of the age, in Music Hall. The first
public performance on the organ, at the ceremonies on
the evening of November 2, were preceded by Char-
lotte Cushman's reading of a dedicatory ode, contrib-
uted, according to the "Advertiser" of the next day, by
an "anonymous lady of this city." The secret of Mrs.
Fields's authorship of this poem, which the "Adver-
tiser" found somewhat too long in spite of its merits,
must have been shared by some of her friends, though it
was temporarily kept from the public.
Sunday, September 20, 1863. — In the evening Char-
lotte Cushman and her niece. Dr. Dewey and Miss
McGregor, Miss Mears and Mr. W. R. Emerson, passed
a few hours with us. Charlotte, always of athletic but
prejudiced mind, talked busily of people and events.
She is a Seward-ite in politics and called Dr. Howe and
Judge Conway "ass-sy" because they said Charles
Sumner had prevented thus far a war with England.
She has made money during the war, but believes appar-
ently not at all in the patriotism of the people. She is to
give one performance for "the Sanitary" in each of the
220 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
four northern seacoast cities, also for fun and fame.
She can't endure to give up the stage. She is a woman
of effects. She lives for effect, and yet doing always good
things and possessed of most admirable qualities. She
has warm friends. Mrs. Carl vie is extremely fond of her,
gives her presents and says flattering things to her.
"Cleverer than her husband," says Miss Cushman. I
put this quietly into my German pipe and puff peace-
fully.
Saturday Evenings September 26, 1863. — Charlotte
Cushman played Lady Macbeth for the benefit of the
Sanitary Commission to a large audience. Her reading
of the letter when she first appears is one of her finest
points. She moves her feet execrably and succeeds in
developing all the devilish nature in the part, but dis-
covers no beauty. Yet it is delightful to hear the won-
drous poetry of the play intelligently and clearly ren-
dered. It would be impossible to say this of the man
who played Macbeth, who talked of "encarnardine,"
and " hcat-opprcj/ brain," for "oppresst^d," besides in-
numerable other faults and failures, which he mouthed
too much for me to discover. Charlotte in the sleeping
scene was fine — that deep-drawn breath of sleep is
thrilling. . . .
There has been an ode written to be spoken at the
organ opening. No one is to know who wrote it. Miss
Cushman will speak it if they are speedy enough in
their finishing. This is of interest to many. I trust they
will be ready for Miss Cushman.
Monday, November 2, 1863. — Miss Dodge and Una
FROM A CRAYON PORTRAIT OF CHARLOTTE CUSH.MAN
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 221
Hawthorne came to dine. At 7 o'clock we all started
for the Music Hall. Miss Cushman read my ode in a
most perfect manner. She was very nervous about it
and skipped something, but what she did read was per-
fect. Her dress and manner too were dignified and beau-
tiful. It was a night never to be forgotten. Afterward
we had a little supper. Dr. and Mrs. Holmes, Mr. Og-
den of New York, Dr. Upham ^ and Judge Putnam and
Mrs. Howe were added to our other guests. Charlotte
Cushman left early the next day and Gail Hamilton and
I sat down and took a long delicious draught of talk.
April 27, 1 871. — Charlotte Cushman came to see us
yesterday. Her full brain was brimming over, and her
rich sympathetic voice is ringing now in my ears. She
does not overestimate herself, that woman, which is
part of her greatness, for the word does apply to her in a
certain way because she grows nearer to it every day.
J. de Maistre refused the epithet "grand" to Napoleon
because he lacked more stature — but this hand-to-
hand fight with death over herself (loving life dearly as
she does) has strengthened her hold upon her affection
for life, insensibly. She grows daily wiser and nobler.
November 13, 1871. — We all went together to Char-
lotte Cushman's debut in Queen Katherine at the Globe
Theatre. A house filled with her friends and a noble
piece of acting. She spoke to every woman's heart
there ; by this I felt the high art and the noble sympa-
thetic nature far above art which was in the woman and
1 Dr. J. Baxter Upham, the moving spirit in the building of the Music Hall
and the installation of the organ. He presided at its dedication.
222 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
radiates from her. Much of the play beside was poor,
but Mrs. Hunt was very amusing and we laughed and
laughed at her sallies until I was quite ashamed. J.
went behind the scenes and talked with C. C. She was
in first-rate condition.
For other contacts with the stage, three brief passages
may speak : —
November 8, 1866. — Went to see Ristori's "Pia dei
Tolomei" in the evening. It was pure and beautiful.
Being R.'s benefit, she made a short speech, and ex-
quisitely simple as it was, her fine voice and the slight
difficulty of enunciating the English words made her
speech one of the most touching features of the time.
Saturday. — Morning at home. Went to see Ristori
for the last time, as Elizabeth, perhaps her finest char-
acterization. Longfellow and Whittier had both prom-
ised to go with us, but the courage of both failed at the
last moment. The house was crowded. Mr. Grau asked
Mr. Fields to go and speak with the great actress, but
he excused himself.
Whittier had never been inside of a theatre and could
not quite feel like breaking the bonds now — besides he
said it would cost him many nights of sleep. Longfellow
does not face high tragedy before a crowd.
January 16, 1868. — Fanny Kemble read "The Mer-
chant of Venice" in Boston last night — the old way of
losing her breath when she appeared, as if totally over-
come by the audience. We could ncjt doubt that she
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STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 223
felt her return deeply and sincerely, but — however, the
feeling was undoubtedly real if short-lived, and we will
give her credit for it. Her voice is sadly faded since the
brilliant readings of ten years ago ; she has had much
sorrow since then and shows the marks of it. It is inter-
esting to compare her work with Mr. Dickens's ; he is
so much the greater artist ! You can never mistake one
of his characters for another, nor lose a syllable of his
perfectly enunciated words. She speaks much more
slowly usually, and there is a grand intonation as the
verses sway from her lips, but one cannot be sure al-
ways if Jessica or Nerissa be speaking, Antonio or
Bassanio. Her face is marvellous In tender passages,
a serenity falls upon it born of immortal youth. It Is
beautiful enough for tears. She enjoys the wit too her-
self thoroughly, and brought out Launcelot Gobbo with
great unction. An enormous and enthusiastic audience
gave her hearty welcome. Longfellow could not come
His wife in the old days enjoyed this play too well when
they used to go together for him to trust himself to hear
it again.
Monday, May 18, 1868. — Raining like all possessed
again today. I was to have done my gardening today
but there Is no chance yet. Walked over to Roxbury
with J. yesterday and found everything gay with the
coming loveliness. It has scarcely come, however.
Jamie was much entertained by tales Mrs. Kemble's
agent told him of that lady : how she watched an Irish
scrubbing woman dawdle over her work, who was paid
by the hour, and finally called her to her (she was sit-
224
MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
ting at her own reading-desk in the hall), and said in
her stately fashion, "I fear, madam, if you exert your-
self so much over your work you will make yourself
ill. Your health is seriously endangered by your severe
efforts." The woman, not seeing the sarcasm, replied
in the strongest possible brogue to the effect that
nothing short of the direst necessity would compel
such dreadful labor. Whereat Mrs. Kemble, with a
l(K)k not to be reproduced, and a wink to Mr. Pugh,
withdrew. She read "Midsummer Night's Dream" on
Saturday p.m. We went, but found the place entirely
without air and left after the first part. She did not
begin with much spirit, but her voice was exquisite and
her fun also, and her dress was an lusthetic pleasure, as
a lady's dress should always be, but alas ! so seldom is,
in this country.
IVednesday^ November 9, 1870. — We have had a
reception today for Miss Nilsson. Longfellow and
I lenry Ward Hcccher were here, beside Perabo and many
excellent or talented people, nearly sixty in all. It
was a curious fact to give out seventy invitations and
have sixty (or nearly that) present.
Miss Nilsson, Mrs. Richardson (her attendant), Alice
Longfellow, and ourselves sat down to lunch afterward,
when she sang snatches of her loveliest songs and talked
and laughed and was as graceful and merry and sweet
as ever a beautiful woman knows how to be. She is now
twenty-seven years old. Her light hair, deep blue eyes,
full glorious eyes, are of the Northern type, but her
broad intellectual brow, her beautiful teeth, and strong
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 225
character, belong only to the type of genius and beauty.
She is not only brave but almost imperious, I fancy,
at times; a manner quite necessary, I say, to protect
her from vulgar animosity and audacity. We heard her
last night sing " Auld Robin Gray" not only with exqui-
site feeling, but with a pronunciation of the Scottish
dialect that appeared to us very remarkable. When we
spoke to her of it she said, "Yes, but there is much like
that too in the Swedish dialect. When I jfirst came up a
peasant to Stockholm to learn to sing, I had the dialect
very bad indeed, and it was a long time before I lost it.
Then I went to school in France, and now my accent
and dialect are French. When I went back home and
talked with the French dialect, they said to me, 'Now
Christine, don't be absurd,' but I could not help it.
I catch everything. I have never studied English in my
life. I am learning American fast. I have learned 'I
guess,' and I shall soon say *I reckon' by the time
I come back from the West."
Vieuxtemps, the violinist, she appreciates and en-
joys highly as an artist. Of Ole Bull she says, "He is a
charlatan. Ah, you will excuse me, but it is true." Of
Viardot-Garcia she has the highest admiration. Noth-
ing ever gave her higher delight than Viardot's com-
pliment after hearing her "Mignon." It was uncalled
for, unexpected, and from the heart. She rehearsed
what we recall so well, Viardot's plain face, poor figure
— and great genius triumphant over all. Well, we
hear poor Viardot has lost her fortune by this sad
French war.
2-6 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
I have set down nothing which can recall the strong
sweet beauty of Nilsson. She is a power to command
success — fine and strong and sweet. Her face glowed
and responded and originated in a swift yet gentle way,
as one person after another was presented, that was a
study and a lesson. She neither looked nor seemed tired
until the presentation was over, when she said she was
hungry. "We have had no breakfast yet, nothing to
eat all day; ah, I shall know again what it means when
Mrs. Fields asks me to lunch at one o'clock!" with an
arch look at me. I was extremely penitent and hurried
the lunch, but the people could not go out of the dining-
room. However, all was cleaned at last and we had a
quiet cosy talk and sit-down, which was delightful.
On Saturday she sang from "Hamlet," the mad
scene of Ophelia. .As usual, her dress and whole appear-
ance were of the most refined and perfect beauty, and
her singing we appreciated even more deeply than ever.
She has not the remote exalte nature of highest genius,
but she is the great singer of this new time, and her
realism is in marked sympathy with her period.
It has already been suggested that, when Thomas
Bailey Aldrich made his migration to Boston as editor of
"Every Saturday," he brought into the circle of the
Ficldses many fresh breezes from the outer world. In
the diary of Mrs. Fields there are frequent notes re-
vealing a friendship which lasted, indeed, long after
the diary ceased, and up to the end of Aldrich's life.
CHRISTIx\E NILSSON AS OPHELIA
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 227
in 1907. Two entries — the first relating to the mete-
oric author of "The Diamond Lens," regarded in its
day as a bright portent in the hterary heavens, the sec-
ond to the Aldriches themselves at the country place
with the name which Aldrich embalmed in his excellent
title, "From Ponkapog to Pesth" — warrant conver-
sion from manuscript into print.
November 9, 1865. — Aldrich told us the story of Fitz-
James O'Brien, the able author of "The Diamond
Lens." He was a handsome fellow, and began his career
by running away with the wife of an English officer.
The officer was in Lidia, and Fitz-James and the guilty
woman had fled to one of the seaports on the south of
England in order to take passage for America, when the
arrival of the woman's husband was announced to them
and O'Brien fled. He concealed himself on board a ship
bound for New York. There he ran a career of dissipa-
tion, landing with only sixty dollars. He went to a first-
rate hotel, ordered wines, and left a large bill behind
when the time came to run away. Then he wrote for
Harpers, and one publisher and another, writing little
and over-drawing funds on a large scale. He came and
lived six weeks upon Aldrich in his uncle's house one
summer when the family were away. One day he tried
to borrow money of Harpers, and being refused he
went into the bindery department, borrowed a board,
printed on it, "I am starving," bored holes through
the ends, put in a string, hung it round his neck,
allowed his fawn-colored gloves to depend over each
228 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
end, and stood in the doorway where the firm should
see him when they went to dinner. A great hiugh and
more money was the result of this escapade. Finally,
when the war broke out, he enlisted, and this was the
last A. heard of him for some time; but, being himself
called to take a position on General Lander's staff, he
was on his way to Richmond and had reached Peters-
burg, when someone told him Fitz-James O'Brien had
been shot dead. Then he went to the hospital and saw
him lying there dead.
Shortly after this, when Bayard Taylor and his wife
were dining in a hotel restaurant at Dover, I believe,
— it was one of the south of England towns, — they
saw themselves closely observed by a lady and gentle-
man sitting near them. Finally the gentleman arose
and came to speak to Taylor, said he observed they
were Americans, and asked if he had ever heard of
F. J. O'Brien. "Oh, yes," said Taylor, "I knew him
very well. He was killed in our war." Then the lady
burst into tears and the gentleman said, "She is his
mother!"
I forgot to say in the course of the story that he
borrowed once sixty-five dollars for which A. became
responsible, and when it was not paid he sent a let-
ter to O'B. saying he must pay it. In return O'Brien
sent him a challenge for a duel, which A. accepted, in
the meantime discovering that an honorable fight
could not be between a debtor and a creditor. How-
ever, when the time appointed arrived, O'Brien hail
absconded. We could not repress a smile at the idea
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 229
of A.' s fighting, for he is a painfully small gentleman.
May 31, 1876. — Passed the day with the Aldriches
at Ponkapog. Aldrich maintained at dinner that the
horse railroad injured Charles Street. His wife and
J. T. F. took the opposite ground. Finally J. said, "Well,
the Philadelphians don't agree with you ; they have
learned the value of horse railroads in their streets."
"Oh, that 's because they are such Christians," said A.
"They know whom the Lord loveth He chasteneth."
He is a queer, witty creature. When the railroad
dropped us at Green Lodge station, a tiny place sur-
rounded by wild green woods and bog, we found him
sitting on a corner of the platform where he said he had
been "listening to the bullfrog tune his violin. He had
been twanging at one string a long time !" Aldrich was
in an ecstasy of delight, and in truth it was a day to put
the most untuned spirit into tune. Li the afternoon we
floated on the beautiful pond. The whole day gave us a
series of pictures — only thirteen miles from town, yet
the beechwoods can be no more retired. Mr. Pierce
owns ^QO acres, and it must be a pleasure to him, while
he is away in Washington, to feel that someone is using
and enjoying hisi beautiful domain; and how could it
be half so well used and enjoyed as by the family of a
struggling literary man ! The house they live in, which
was going to decay, may really be considered a creation
of Lilian's. Altogether she is very clever and Aldrich
most fortunate and our Washington senator is doubt-
less most content to think of the enjoyment of others
in his domain.
230 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
Still more exotic a figure in Boston than Aldrich
was William Morris Hunt — in spite of his temporary
association with Harvard College and his Boston mar-
riage. Both he and his wife are constantly to be met
in the pages of Mrs. Fields's journals, from which they
emerged with some frequency into her published "Bio-
graphical Notes," even as they have reappeared, with
others, on earlier pages of this book.
In other places than Charles Street, Fields and Hunt
were often meeting. One brief record of an encounter,
at the end of a Saturday Club meeting, should surely
be preserved, for all that it suggests of Hunt in amused
rebellion against his surroundings.
Sunday J Jugust 26, 1874. — Hunt came to Jamie
when the afternoon was nearly ended and asked him to
go up to his studio. As they went along, he said, "I 've
made a poem ! First time I ever wrote anything in my
life. T is n't long, only four lines, but I 've got it writ-
ten down." Whereat then and there he pulled out his
pocketbook and read :
"Boston is a hilly place;
People all are brothers-in-law.
If you or I want something done
They treat us then like mothers-in-law.
"This goes to the tune of Yankee Doodle," whereat he
sang it out on the public highway. He looked very hand-
some, was beautifully dressed in brown velvet with a
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Facsimile letter from Hunt to Fields
121 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
gold chain about his neck, hut swore hke a trooper and
was in one of his most hiwless moods.
He gav'e J. for me a photograph of a marvellous
picture which he calls his Persian Sybil, Anahita. I
see his wife in it as in so many of his best works. " I
don't mean to do any more portraits," he said. "When
I remember how I have wasted time on an eyebrow
because somebody's 14th cousin thought it ought to
turn up a little more — it makes me mad ! "
When the English painter, Lowes Dickinson, the
father of G. Lowes Dickinson, was visiting the Fieldses
in Boston, a photograph of Hunt's portrait of Chief
Justice Lemuel Shaw so impressed him that he asked
to be taken to the painter's studio. In Miss Helen M.
Knowlton's "Art Life of William Morris Hunt" this
circumstance is related, together with its sequel, which
was the publication of Hunt's "Talks on Art" from
notes made by Miss Knowlton herself. It is a surmise
but slightly hazardous that a characteristic note found
among the Fields papers was written apropos of Dickin-
son's visit to Hunt : "Send 'em along — I mean Paint-
ers," he wrote to Fields. "I have had a delightful day
with your friend — and I know he is a painter — why ?
because he likes what I do well and hates what I do
that ain't worth. . . ."
It has been seen that, as early as November, 1R6S,
James Parton suggested that "a writer named Mark
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 233
Twain" be engaged to contribute to the "Atlantic."^
In October, 1868, "F. Bret Harte" wrote to the editor
of the "Atlantic" from San Francisco: "As the author
of 'The Luck of Roaring Camp,' I have to thank you for
an invitation to contribute to the 'Atlantic Monthly,*
but as editor of 'The Overland,' my duties claim most
of my spare time outside of the Government office in
which I am employed. . . . But I am glad of this op-
portunity to thank someone connected with the 'Atlan-
tic' for its very gracious good-will toward me and my
writings, particularly the book which G. W. Carleton
of New York malformed in its birth. There was an
extra kindness in your taking the deformed brat by the
hand, and trying to recognize some traces of a parent
so far away."
It was in the discharge of his work as editor of the
"Atlantic" that Fields, hospitable to practitioners of all
the arts, entered especially into relations with writers
whose paths might not otherwise have crossed his, and
his wife's. Of all the young Lochinvars of the pen who
came out of the West while Mrs. Fields was keeping her
diary, Bret Harte and Mark Twain were the daring and
dauntless gallants who most captured the imagination
and have longest held it. To each of them Mrs. Fields
devoted a numbei of pages in her diary. We shall see
first what she had to say about Bret Harte.
Friday, March lO, 1 87 1. — Too many days full of
1 See ante, page iii.
2.i!4 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
interest have passed unrecorded. Chiefly I should
record what I can recall of Francis Bret Harte, who has
made his first visit to the East just now, since he went
to San Francisco in his early youth. He is now appar-
ently about ^S years old. His mind is full of the grand
landscape of the West, and filled also with sympathetic
interest in the half-developed natives who are to be
seen there, nearer to the surface than in our Eastern
cities. He told me of a gambler who had a friend lying
dead in the upper room of a gambling house. The man
went out to see about having services performed.
" Better have it at the grave," said the parson to whom
he applied. Jim shook his head as if he feared the proper
honors would not be paid his friend. The other then
suggested they should find the minister and leave it
to him. "Well," said Jim, "yes, I wish you 'd do just
that, for I ain't much of a funeral 'sharp' myself." He
told me also, as a sign of the wonderful recklessness
which had pervaded San Francisco, that at one time
there was a glut of tobacco in the market and, a block
of houses going up at the same period, the foundations
oj those houses were laid of boxes of tobacco. Bret Harie,
as the world calls him, is natural, warm-hearted, with a
keen relish for fun, disposed to give just value to the
strong language of the West, which he is by no means
inclined to dispense with; at ease in every society,
quick of sense and sight. Jamie, who saw him more than
I, finds him lovable above all. Wc liked his wife too, —
not handsome but with good honest sense, apprecia-
tive of him, — and two children. She is said to sing
Facsirnik page Jrom an early letter of Bret Harte" s
236 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
well, but poor woman ! the fatigues of that most dis-
tressing journey across the continent, the fetes, the
heat (for the weather is unusually warm), have been
almost too much for her and she is not certainly at
her best. They dined and took tea here last Friday.
Tuesday^ September 5, 1871. — J. went to Boston.
I wrote in the pastures and walked all the morning.
Coming home, after dinner, came a telegram for me
to meet J. and Bret Harte at Beverly station with the
pony carriage. I drove hard to catch the train, but
arrived in season, glad to take up the two good boys
and show them Beverly shore. Stopped at Mrs. Cabot's
returning to see Mrs. , etc. They were all glad to
have a glimpse of Bret Harte. The talk turned a little
upon Hawthorne, and I was much amused to hear
Mrs. say, drawing herself up, "Yes, he was born
in Salem, but we never knew anything about him."
(The truth was, Mrs. was the last person to appre-
ciate him.) . . . Fortunately Miss Howes was present,
whose father was one of Hawthorne's best friends ; so
matters were made clear there. We left soon and came
on to Manchester, where, after showing him the shore,
we sat and talked during the evening.
Mr. Harte had much to say of the beautiful flowers of
California, roses being in bloom about his own house
there every month in the year. He found the cloudless
skies and continued drought of California very hard
to bear. For the first time in my life I considered how
terrible perpetual cloudlessness would be! He thinks
there is no beauty in the mountains of California, hard,
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 237
bare, snowless peaks. Neither are there trees, nor any
green grass.
He is delighted with the fragrant lawns of Newport
and has, I believe, put into verse a delightful ghost story
which he told us.i He has taken a house of some an-
tiquity in Newport, connected with which is the story
of a lady who formerly lived there and who was very
fond of the odor of mignonette. The flower was always
growing in her house, and after her death, at two o'clock
every night, a strong odor has always been perceived
passing through the house as if wafted along by the
garments of a woman. One night at the appointed hour,
but entirely unconnected in his thought with the story
Mr. Harte had long ago heard, he was arrested in his
work by a strong perfume of mignonette which appeared
to sweep by him. He looked about, thinking his wife
might have placed a vase of flowers in the room, but
finding nothing he began to follow the odor, which
seemed to flit before him. Then he recalled, for the first
time, the story he had heard. He opened the door ; the
odor was in the hall; he opened the room where the
lady died, but there was no odor there; until returning,
after making a circuit of the house, he found a faint
perfume as if she had passed but not stayed there also.
At last, somewhat oppressed perhaps by the ghostliness
of the place and hour, he went out and stood upon the
porch. There his dream vanished. The sweet lawn
and tree flowers were emitting an odor, as is common at
1 "A Newport Romance," published in t\\c Atlantic Monthly for October,
238 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
the hour when dews congeal, more sweet than at any
other time of day or night, and the air was redolent of
sweets which might easily be construed into mignon-
ette. The story was well told and I shall be glad to
see his poem.
Many good stories came off during the evening, some
very characteristic of California; ones such as that of
an uproar in a theatre and a man about to be killed,
when someone shouts, "Don't waste him, but kill a
fiddler with him." Also one of the opening nights at
the California theatre, the place packed, when a man
who has taken too much whiskey wishes a noise ; imme-
diately the manager, a strong executive man, catches
him up with the help of a policeman, and before any-
body knows the thing is done or the disturber what is
the matter, he finds himself set down on the sidewalk
outside in the street. "Well," said he with an oath, "is
this the way you do business here ; raise a fellow before
he has a chance to draw?" (referring to the game of
poker).
Mr. Harte is a very sensitive and nervous man. He
struggles against himself all the time. He sat on the
piazza with J. and talked till a late hour. This morning at
breakfast I found him most interesting. He talked of his
early and best-loved books. It appears that at the age
of nine he was a lover and reader of Montaigne. Certain
writers, he says, seem to him to stand out as friends and
brothers side by side in literature. Now Horace and
Montaigne are so associated in his mind. Mr. Emerson,
he thinks, never in the least approaches a comprehen-
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 239
sion of the character of the man. With an admiration
for his great sayings, he has never guessed at the subtle
springs from which they come. The pleasant acceding
to both sides in politics, and other traits of like nature,
gives him affinity with Hawthorne. By the way, he is
a true appreciator of Hawthorne. He was moved to
much merriment yesterday by remembering a passage
in the notes, where he slyly remarks, "Margaret Fuller's
cows hooked the other cows." Speaking of Dr. Bartol, he
said, "What a dear old man he is ! A venerable baby,
nothing more ! " But Harte is most kindly and tender.
His wife has been very ill and has given him cause for
terrible anxiety. This accounts for much left undone,
but he is an oblivious man oftentimes to his surround-
ings — leaves things behind ! !
January 12, 1872. — Bret Harte was here at break-
fast. It is curious to see his feeling with regard to soci-
ety. For purely literary society, with its affectations
and contempts, he has no sympathy. He has at length
chosen New York as his residence, and among the
Schuylers, Sherwoods, and their friends he appears to
find what he enjoys. There is evidently a gene about
people and life here, and provincialisms which he found
would hurt him. He is very sensitive and keen, with a
love and reverence for Dickens almost peculiar in this
coldly critical age. Bryant he finds very cold and totally
unwilling to lead the conversation, as he should do
when they are together, as he justly remarks, he being
so much younger — but never a word without cart and
horses to fetch it.
240 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
Bret Harte has a queer absent-minded way of spend-
ing his time, letting the hours shp by as if he had not
altogether learned their value yet. It is a miracle to
us how he lives, for he writes very little. Thus far I
suppose he has had money from J. R. O. & Co., but I
fancy they have done with giving out money save for a
quid pro quo.
February y 1872 [during a visit to New York]. — We
had promised to dine with Mr. and Mrs. Harte early
and go to the theatre afterward, therefore four o'clock
found us at their door. He welcomed us by opening it
himself and only this reassured Jamie. We had driven
up in a "Crystal," much to my amusement, in which J.
had insisted I should sit until he discovered if that was
the house. The scene was altogether comic. I shortened
the ludicrousness as much as possible by jumping out
and running quickly up the steps. Mrs. Harte was not
ready to see me, but I found Mr. Barrett the actor with
Mr. Harte in the parlor, and soon being invited upstairs,
found Mrs. Barrett and Mrs. Harte together. We had
a merry dinner together, the young actor evidently
quite nervous with respect to the evening's performance.
He went an hour before us to the play. We sat in the
stage box; the play was "Julius Caesar." It is useless
to deny Edwin Booth great talent, exquisite grace and
feeling. Both the young men, the first, Barrett, a man of
intellect, and Booth, a man of inherited grace and feel-
ing as well as good mind, have the advantage moreover
of being born to the stage. Their stage habits fit them
more perfectly than those of the drawing-room and they
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 241
walk the stage with the ease that most men do their
own parlors. During the performance Booth invited us
into his drawing-room ; a short carpeted way led from
the box into the small room where he was sitting in
Roman costume, pipe in mouth ; he rose and called
*'Mary," as we approached, when the tiniest woman
ever called wife made her appearance. She is an ardent
little spark of human flame and he really looks large
beside her.
But his grace, his grace ! His dress too, was as usual
perfect — more, far more than all, both the actors had
such feeling for Shakespeare and for their parts with
which they are filling the stage nightly, that they were
deeply and truly enthusiastic. It was a sight to warm
Shakespeare.
Saturday, September 18, 1875. — Bret Harte came on
the \ past 12 train. He came in good health, save a
headache which ripened as the day went on ; but he
was bubbling over with fun, full of the most natural and
unexpected sallies. He wished to know if I was ac-
quainted with the Cochin China hen. They had one at
Cohasset. They had named him Benventuro (after a
certain gay Italian singer of strong self-appreciation who
came formerly to America). He said this hen's state of
mind on finding a half-exploded fire-cracker and her
depressed condition since its explosion was something
extraordinary. His description was so vivid that I still
see this hen perambulating about the house, first with
pride, second with precipitation, fallen into disgrace
among her fellows.
MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
He said Cohasset was not the place to live in the sum-
mer if one wanted sea-breezes. They all came straight
from Chicago ! ! He fancied the place, thinking it an old
fishing village, not unlike Yarmouth. Instead of which
they prided themselves upon never having "any of your
sea-smells," and, being five miles from the doctor, could
not be considered a cheerful place to live in with sick
children. He said he was surprised to find J. T. F. with-
out a sailor's jacket and collar. The actors among whom
he had been living rather overdid the business; their
collars were wider, their shirts fuller, and their trousers
more bulgy than those of any real sailor he had ever
observed, and the manner of hitching up the trousers
was entirely peculiar to themselves and to the stage.
We went to call upon the Hurlingames. In describing
Ilarrisburg, Virginia, where he had lectured, he said a
committee-man came to invite him to take a walk, and
he was so afflicted with a headache that he was ready
to take or give away his life at any moment ; so he ac-
cepted the invitation and walked out with him. The
man observed that Harrisburg was a very healthy place ;
only one man a day died in that vicinity. "Oh!" said
Harte, remembering the dangerous state of his own
mind, "has that man died yet today ?" The man shook
his head gravely, never suspecting a joke, and said he
did n't know, but he would try to find out. Whereat
Harte, to keep up the joke, said he wished he would. He
went to the lecture forgetting all about it and saw this
man hanging around without getting a chance to speak.
The next morning very early, he managed to get an
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 243
opportunity to speak to him. "I couldn't find out
exactly about that man yesterday," he said. "What
man?" said H. "Why, the one we were speaking of;
the Coroner said he could n't say precisely who it was,
but the one man would average all right."
Harte said in speaking of Longfellow that no one had
yet overpraised him. The delicate quality of humor, the
exquisite fineness in the choice of words, the breadth
and sweetness of his nature were something he could
hardly help worshipping. One day after a dinner at Mr.
Lowell's he said, "I think I will not have a carriage to
return to town. I will walk down to the Square.'* " I will
walk with you," said Longfellow. When they arrived at
his gate, he said, he was so beautiful that he could only
think of the light and whiteness of the moon, and if he
had stayed a moment longer he should have put his arms
around him and made a fool of himself then and there.
Whereat he said good night abruptly and turned away.
He brought his novel and play ^ with him which are
just now finished, for us to read. He has evidently
enjoyed the play, and he enjoys the fame and the
money they both bring him.
He is a dramatic, lovable creature with his blue silk
pocket-handkerchief and red dressing slippers and his
quick feelings. I could hate the man who could help
loving him — or the woman either.
In thd passages touching upon Mark Twain now to be
copied from the journals, he is seen, not in Boston, but
1 Probably Gabriel Convoy and Two Men of Sandy Bar.
244 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
in Hartford. If Mrs. Fields had continued her diary
until 1879, there would doubtless have been a faithful
contemporaneous account of the humorist's unhappy
attempt to be funny both in the presence and at the ex-
pense of the " Augustans" assembled in honor of Whit-
tier's seventieth birthday.^ But Mrs. Fields's reports
of talk and observations under his own roof, in the
days when his fame rested entirely upon a handful of his
earlier books, should take their place in the authentic
annals of an extraordinary personality. On the first of
the two occasions recorded, Fields went alone to deliver
a lecture in Hartford, and in answer to a post-card in-
vitation signed "Mark," stayed in the new house of the
Clemcnses. On the second occasion, three weeks later,
Mrs. Fields accompanied him. After her husband's re-
turn from the first visit she wrote: —
April 6, 1876. — He found Mrs. Clemens quite ill.
They had been in New York where he had given four
lectures hoping to get money for Dr. Brown. He had
never lectured there before without making a great deal
of money. This time he barely covered his expenses.
He was very interesting and told J. the whole story of
his life. They sat until midnight after the lecture, Mark
drinking ale to make him sleepy. He says he can't sleep
as other people do ; his kind of sleep is the only sort for
him — three or four hours of good solid comfort — more
than that makes him ill ; he can't afford to sleep all his
thoughts away. He described the hunger of his child-
' Sec The .Itlantic Monthly and Us Makers^ pp. 7J-75.
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 245
hood for books, how the "Fortunes of Nigel" was one
of the first stories which came to him while he was learn-
ing to be a pilot on a Mississippi boat. He hid himself
with it behind a barrel where he was found by the
master, who read him a lecture upon the ruinous effects
of reading. "I 've seen it over and over agin," he said.
"You need n't tell me anythin' about it ; if ye 're going
to be a pilot on this river yer need n't ever think of
reading, for it just spiles all. Yer can't remember how
high the tides was in Can's Gut three trips before the
last now, I '11 wager." "Why no," said Mark, "that
was six months ago." "I don't care if 't was," said the
man. "If you had n't been spiling yer mind by readin*
ye 'd have remembered." So he was never allowed to
read any more after that. "And now," says Mark, "not
being able to have it when I was hungry for it, I can
only read the Encyclopedia nowadays." Which is not
true — he reads everything.
The story of his courtship and marriage, too, was
very strange and interesting. A portion of this has,
however, leaked into the daily papers, so I will not
repeat it here. One point interested me greatly, how-
ever, as showing the strength of character and right-
ness of vision in the man. He said he had not been
married many months when his wife's father came to
him one evening and said, "My son, would n't you like
to go to Europe with your wife?" "Why yes, sir,"
he said, "if I could afford it." "Well then," said he,
"if you will leave off smoking and drinking ale you
shall have ten thousand dollars this next year and go to
246 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
Europe beside." "Thank you, sir," said Mark, "this is
very good of you, and I appreciate it, but I can't sell
myself. I will do anything I can for you or any of your
family, but I can't sell myself." The result was, said
Mark, " I never smoked a cigar all that year nor drank a
glass of ale ; but when the next year came I found I must
write a book, and when I sat down to write I found it
was n't worth anything. I must have a cigar to steady
my nerves. I began to smoke, and I wrote my book ;
but then I could n't sleep and I had to drink ale to go to
sleep. Now if I had sold myself, I could n't have written
my book, or I could n't have gone to sleep, but now
everything works perfectly well."
He and his wife have wretched health, poor things!
And in spite of their beautiful home must often have
rather a hard time. He is very eccentric, disturbed by
every noise, and it cannot be altogether easy to have
care of such a man. It is a very loving household though
Mrs. Clemens's mother, Mrs. Langdon, hardly knows
what to make of him sometimes, it is quite evident.
Thursday, April 27, 1 876. — We lunched and at 3
P.M. were en route for Hartford. I slept, and read Mr.
Tom Appleton's journal on the Nile, and looked out at
the sunset and the torches of spring in the hollows, each
in turn, doing more sleeping than either of the others,
I fear, because I seem for some unexplained reason to be
tired, as Mrs. Hawthorne used to say, far into the future.
By giving up to it, however, I felt quite fresh when we
arrived, at half-past seven o'clock, Mr. Clemens' (Mark
Twain's) carriage waiting for us to take us to the hall
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 247
where he was to perform for the second night In suc-
cession Peter Spyle in the "Loan of a Lover." It is a
pretty play, and the girl's part, Gertrude, was well
done by Miss Helen Smith ; but Mr. Clemens' part
was a creation. I see no reason why, if he chose to adopt
the profession of actor, he should not be as successful
as Jefferson in whatever he might conclude to under-
take. It is really amazing to see what a man of genius
can do beside what is usually considered his legitimate
sphere.
Afterward we went with Mr. Hammersley to the Club
for a bit of supper — this I did not wish to do, but I was
overruled of course by the decision of our host. We met
at supper one of the clever actors who played in a little
operetta called "The Artful Mendicants." It was after
twelve o'clock when we finally reached Mr. Clemens'
house. He believed his wife would have retired, as she
is very delicate in health ; but there she was expecting
us, with a pretty supper table laid. When her husband
discovered this, he fell down on his knees in mock desire
for forgiveness. His mind was so full of the play, and
with the poor figure he felt he had made in it, that he
had entirely forgotten all her directions and injunctions.
She is a very small, sweet-looking, simple, finished
creature, charming in her ways and evidently deeply
beloved by him. The house is a brick villa, designed by
one of the first New York architects, standing in a lovely
lawn which slopes down to a small stream or river at the
side. In this spring season the blackbirds are busy in
the trees and the air is sweet and vocal. Inside there is
f£y <StyU^ -
nLuf-t^ >t*^<-vu</ UL/ASdji, {Pf/jCjL4^ <X^ ^^ .^
iacstnnie verses anJ Icti
^^£,^^ijjt 2^^<-tAA.^ ^^'f^L/tn/L^^ /ZC^-^IZ^^
g
*^€<'^fiy€^ ^^^
<»^oc- t<.
/row Mrtr^ Twain to Fields
ISO MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
great luxury. Especially I delight in a lovely conserva-
tory opening out of the drawing-room.
Although we had already eaten supper, the gentlemen
took a glass of lager beer to keep Mrs. Clemens com-
pany while she ate a bit of bread after her long anxiety
and waiting. Meantime Mr. Clemens talked. The quiet
earnest manner of his speech would be impossible to
reproduce, but there is a drawl in his tone peculiar to
himself. Also he is much interested in actors and the
art of acting just now, and seriously talks of going to
Boston next week to the debut of Anna Dickinson.
We were a tired company and went soon to bed and
to sleep. I slept late, but I found Mr. Clemens had been
re-reading Dana's "Two Years before the Mast" in bed
early and revolving subjects for his "Autobiography."
Their two beautiful baby girls came to pass an hour
with us after breakfast — exquisite affectionate chil-
dren, the very fountain of joy to their interesting par-
ents. . . .
Returning to lunch, I found our host and hostess
and eldest little girl in the drawing-room. We fell into
talk of the mishaps of the stage and the disadvantage of
an amateur under such circumstances. " For instance,
on the first night of our little play," said Mr. Clemens,
"the trousers of one of the actors suddenly gave way
entirely behind, which was very distressing to him,
though we did not observe it at all."
I want to stop here to give a little idea of the appear-
ance of our host. He is forty years old, with some color
in his cheeks and a heavy light-colored moustache, and
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 251
overhanging light eyebrows. His eyes are grey and
piercing, yet soft, and his whole face expresses great
sensitiveness. He is exquisitely neat also, though care-
less, and his hands are small, not without delicacy.
He is a small man, but his mass of hair seems the one
rugged-looking thing about him. I thought in the play
last night that it was a wig.
To return to our lunch table — he proceeded to speak
of his "Autobiography," which he intends to write as
fully and simply as possible to leave behind him. His
wife laughingly said she should look it over and leave
out objectionable passages. "No," he said, very ear-
nestly, almost sternly, ^' you are not to edit it — it is to
appear as it is written, with the whole tale told as truly
as I can tell it. I shall take out passages from it, and
publish as I go along in the 'Atlantic' and elsewhere,
but I shall not limit myself as to space, and at whatever
age I am writing about, even if I am an infant, and an
idea comes to me about myself when I am forty, I shall
put that in. Every man feels that his experience is un-
like that of anybody else, and therefore he should write
it down. He finds also that everybody else has thought
and felt on some points precisely as he has done, and
therefore he should write it down."
The talk naturally branched to education, and thence
to the country. He has lost all faith in our government.
This wicked ungodly suffrage, he said, where the vote
of a man who knew nothing was as good as the vote
of a man of education and industry ; this endeavor to
equalize what God had made unequal was a wrong and
252 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
a shame. He only hoped to live long enough to see such
a wrong and such a government overthrown. Last
summer he wrote an article for the "Atlantic," printed
without any signature, proposing the only solution of
such evil of which he could conceive. "It is too late
now," he continued, "to restrict the suffrage; we must
increase it — for this let us give every university man,
let us say, ten votes, and every man with common-
school education two votes, and a man of superior
power and position a hundred votes, if we choose. This
is the only way I see to get out of the false position
into which we have fallen."
At five, the hour appointed for dinner, I returned to
the drawing-room where our host lay at full length on
the floor with his head on cushions in the hay-window,
reading, and taking what he called "delicious comfort."
Mrs. Perkins came in to dinner, and we had a cosy good
time. Mr. Clemens described the preaching of a West-
ern clergyman, a great favorite, with the smallest pos-
sible allowance of idea to the largest possible amount of
words. It was so truthfully and vividly portrayed that
we all concluded, perhaps, since the man was in such
earnest, he moved his audience more than if he had
troubled them with too many ideas. This truthfulness
of Mr. Clemens, which will hardly allow him to portray
anything in a way to make out a case by exaggerating
or distorting a truth, is a wondrous and noble quality.
This makes art and makes life, and will continue to
make him a daily increasing power among us.
He is so unhappy and discontented with our govern-
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 253
ment that he says he Is not conscious of the least emo-
tion of patriotism in himself. He is overwhelmed with
shame and confusion and wishes he were not an Amer-
ican. He thinks seriously of going to England to live for
a while, at least, and I think it not unlikely he may
discover away from home a love of his country which
is still waiting to be unfolded. I believe hope must dawn
for us, that so much earnest endeavor of our statesmen
and patriots cannot come to naught ; and perhaps the
very idea he has dropped, never believing that it can
bring forth fruit, will be adopted in the end for our sal-
vation. Certainly women's suffrage and such a change
as he proposes should be tried, since we cannot keep the
untenable ground of the present. . . .
It is most curious and interesting to watch this grow-
ing man of forty — to see how he studies and how high
his aims are. His conversation is always earnest and
careful, though full of fun. He is just now pondering
much upon actors and their ways. Raymond, who is
doing the "Gilded Age," is so hopelessly given "to
saving at the spigot and losing at the bung-hole" that
he is evidently not over-satisfied nor does he count the
acting everything it might be.
We sat talking, chiefly we women, after dinner and
looking at the sunset. Mr. Clemens lay down with a
book and J. went to look over his lecture. I did not
go to lecture, but after all were gone I scribbled away at
these pages and nearly finished Mr. Appleton's "Nile
Journal." They returned rather late, it was after ten,
bearing a box of delicious strawberries, Mrs. Colt's gift
254 MKMUKIi:S UV A HOSTESS
from her endless greenhouses. They were a sensation ;
the whole of summer was foreshadowed by their scarlet
globes. Some beer was brought for Mr. Clemens (who
drinks nothing else, and as he cats but little this seems
to answer the double end of nourishment and soothing
for the nerves) and he began again to talk. He said it
was astonishing what subjects were missed by the Poet
Laureate. He thought the finest incident of the Crimean
War had been certainly ovcrlcxjkcd. That w.as the going
down at sea of the man of war, Berkeley Castle. The
ship with a whole regiment, one of the finest of the Eng-
lish army, on board, struck a rcKk near the Bosphorus.
There was no help — the bottom was out and the boats
would only hold the crew and the other helpless ones;
there was no chance for the soldiers. The Colonel sum-
moned them on deck ; he told them the duty of soldiers
was to die; they would do their duty as bravely there
as if they were on the battle-field. He bade them shoul-
der arms and prepare for action. The drums beat, flags
were flying, the service playing, as they all went down to
silent death in the great deep.
.Afterward Mr. Clemens described to us the reappear-
ance before his congregation of an old clergyman who
had been incapacitated for work during twelve years —
coming suddenly into the pulpit just as the first hymn
was ended. The younger pastor proposed they should
sing the old man's favorite, "Coronation," omitting the
first verse. He heard nothing of the omission, but be-
ginning at the first verse he sang in a cracked treble the
remaining stanza after all the people were still. There
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 2^^
was a mingling of the comic and pathetic in this inci-
dent which made it consonant with the genius of our
host. Our dear little hostess complained of want of air,
and I saw she was very tired, so we all went to bed about
eleven.
Saturday morning. — Dear J. was up early and out in
the beautiful sunshine. I read and scribbled until break-
fast at half-past nine. It was a lovely morning, and I
had already ventured out of my window and round the
house to hear the birds sing and see the face of spring
before the hour came for breakfast. When I did go to
the drawing-room, however, I found Mr. Clemens alone.
He greeted me apparently as cheerfully as ever, and it
was not until some moments had passed that he told
me they had a very sick child upstairs. From that in-
stant I saw, especially after his wife came in, that they
could think of nothing else. They were half-distracted
with anxiety. Their messenger could not find the doctor,
which made matters worse. However, the little girl did
not really seem very sick, so I could not help thinking
they were unnecessarily excited. The effect on them,
however, was just as bad as if the child were really very
ill. The messenger was hardly despatched the second
time before Jamie and Mr. Clemens began to talk of our
getting away in the next train, whereat he (Mr. C.) said
to his wife, "Why did n't you tell me of that," etc., etc.
It was all over in a moment, but in his excitement he
spoke more quickly than he knew, and his wife felt it.
Nothing was said at the time, indeed we hardly observed
it, but we were intensely amused and could not help
i<^(i MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
finding it pathetic too afterward, when he came to us and
said he spent the larger part of his hfe on his knees mak-
ing apologies and now he had got to make an apology to
us about the carriage. He was always bringing the blood
to his wife's face by his bad behavior, and here this very
morning he had said such things about that carriage !
His whole life was one long apology. His wife had told
him to see how well we behaved (poor we !) and he knew
he had everything to learn.
He was so amusing about it that he left us in a storm
of laughter, yet at bottom I could see it was no laugh-
ing matter to him. He is in dead earnest, with a desire
for growth and truth in life, and with such a sincere
admiration for his wife's sweetness and beauty of char-
acter that the most prejudiced and hardest heart could
not fail to fall in love with him. She looked like an
exquisite lily as we left her. So white and delicate and
tender. Such sensitiveness ami self-control as she pos-
sesses are very, very rare.
May Day. — Longfellow, Greene, Alexander Agassiz
and Dr. Holmes dined with us. This made summer,
Longfellow said at table — that this was May Day
enough, it was no matter how cold it was outside.
(The wind outside had been raging all day and winter
seemed to be giving us a last fling.) Jamie recalled one
or two things "Mark Twain" had said which I have
omitted. When he lectured a few weeks ago in New
York, he said he had just reached the middle of his lec-
ture and was going on with flying colors when he saw in
the audience just in front of him a noble gray head and
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 257
beard. "Nobody told me that William Cullen Bryant
was there, but I had seen his picture and I knew that
was the old man. I was sure he saw the failure I was
making, and all the weak points in what I was saying,
and I could n't do anything more — that old man just
spoiled my work. Then they told me afterward that
my lecture was good and all that; I could only say,
'no, no, that fine old head spoiled all I had to say that
night.'"
Longfellow was quite like himself again, but the talk
was mainly sustained by Dr. Holmes and Mr. Agassiz.
When Dr. Holmes first came in he looked earnestly at
the portrait of Sydney Smith. "It reminds me of our
famous story-teller, Sullivan," he said; "it is full of
epicureanism. The month is made J or kisses and canvas-
backs .'' Later on in the dinner, when Mr. Agassiz was
describing the fatigue he suffered after talking Spanish
all day while he still understood the language very im-
perfectly, "Why," said Holmes, "it 's like playing the
piano with mittens on."
There was something pathetic in the fact of this young
man sitting here among his father's friends, almost
in the very place his father had filled so many times —
but his speech was manly and wise, from a full brain.
They talked of the spectroscope as on the whole the
most important discovery the world had known. "Well,
what is it?" said Longfellow. "Explain it to us." (I
was glad enough to have him ask.) Agassiz explained
quite clearly that it was an instrument to discover the
elements which compose the sun, and proceeded to un-
258 MEMORIES OK A HOSTESS
fold its working in some detail. Two men made the dis-
covery simultaneously, one in India and one in Eng-
land. This spectroscope has been infinitely improved,
however, by every living mind brought to bear upon it,
almost, since its first so-called discovery. It is so diffi-
cult. Dr. H. said, to tell where an invention began ; you
could go back until it seemed that no man that ever
lived really did it — like some verses, whereupon one of
Gray's was given as an example. The talk turned some-
what upon the manner of putting things, the English
manner being so poor and inexpressive compared with
the southern natures — the French being the masters of
expression.
Longfellow gave a delightful account of the old artist
and spiritualist, Kirkup, the discoverer of the Dante
portrait, though Greene undertook to say that a certain
NVildc was the man. I never heard anybody else have
the credit but Kirkup, and certainly England believes
it was he.
I think they all had "a good time" ; I am sure I did.
As Mark Twain, in the preceding pages may be said to
have led the reader back into the Boston and Cambridge
circle, so there were constant excursions of interest
from that circle out into the world in which such a man
as Sumner stood as the friend of such another as Long-
fellow. For twenty-three years, from 1851 till his death
in 1874, Sumner was a member of the United States
Senate, and consequently was much more to be seen in
CHARLES SU-MXER
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 259
Washington than In the state he represented. He ap-
pears from time to time in the pages of Mrs. Fields's
diary, and in the two ensuing passages figures first at
her Boston dinner-table and then in Washington-.
Saturday^ November 18, 1865. — Last night Miss Kate
Field and Charles Sumner dined with us. Before we
went to dinner Charlotte Foster, the young colored girl
whom Elizabeth Whittier was so fond of and who is now
secretary of the Freedmen's Bureau, came in to call.
She is very pretty and good. It is difficult nevertheless
for her to find a boarding-place. People do not readily
admit a colored woman into their families. I shall help
her to find a good home. . . .
Mr. Sumner opened the conversation at dinner by
asking Miss Field to tell him something of Mr. Landor.
She, smiling, said that was difficult now because she
had talked and written so much of him that she hardly
knew what was left unsaid. Mr. Sumner described his
own first introduction then at the house of his old
friend, Mr. Kenyon, in London. He had dropped in
there by accident, but was positively engaged elsewhere
at dinner ; before he left, however, he was able to parry
skilfully a remark aimed at the Yankees, which tickled
Mr. Landor and made him try to hold on and induce
him to stay. He was obliged to go then, however, but
he returned a few days after to breakfast, when Landor
asked him why the body of Washington did not rest
in the Capitol at Washington. "Because," said Mr.
Sumner, "his family wished his ashes to remain at Mt.
iGo MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
Vernon." "Ashes," said L., "his body was not burned ;
why do you say 'ashes,' sir?" "I quoted, 'E'en in our
ashes live their wonted fires,' and he said nothing more
at the time, but," added Mr. Sumner, "I have never
used 'ashes' since."
Kate Field said "his wife was a perfect fiend"; but
Mr. Sumner was inclined to doubt the statement.
"These marriages with men of genius are hard," he said,
"because genius wins the race in the end."
Then Kate brought the authority of Mr. Ikowning
and others to back her statement, but, referring to Mr.
Landor's temper, she said that while the Storys were at
Siena passing the summer one year, the Brownings took
a villa near by and Mr. Landor lived opposite, while she
and Miss Isa Blagdcn went down to make the Brown-
ings a visit. During their stay Mr. Landor fancied that
the stock of tea lately purchased for his use was poi-
soned, and threw it all out of the window. The Conta-
dinc reaped the benefit of this; they came and gath-
ered it up like a flock of doves.
Mr. Sumner spoke of the high, very high place he ac-
corded to Mr. Landor as a writer of prose. He had been
a source of great admiration to him for years, he said.
As long ago as when G. \V. Greene was living in Rome
and first becoming a writer, he asked Mr. Sumner what
masters of prose he should study. "Then," said Mr. S.,
"you remember his own style was bad; the sentences
apt to be jumbled up together. I told him to read Bacoa,
and Hooker, and all the prose of Dryden he could find
in the prefaces and elsewhere, and Walter Savage Lan-
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 261
dor; and my reverence for Mr. Landor as a writer of
prose has never diminished."
Later during the dinner, talking of his hfe abroad, Mr.
Sumner was reminded of a letter he had received from
John P. Hale, our minister plenipotentiary to Spain.
He said for a number of years, while Mr. Hale was in
the Senate, whenever appeals came from our foreign
ministers or consuls abroad asking for increase of salary,
Mr. Hale would jump up and say, "Gentlemen of the
Senate, allow me to say I would engage to live at any
point in Europe upon the salary now granted by the
Government. It is no economy, indeed it is a great
lack of economy, to think of raising these salaries."
"Hereupon comes a letter from Spain urging an
increase of salary in terms which would convulse the
Senate with laughter after the protestations they have
heard so often. I should like nothing better than to
read it to them." For the lack of their presence, how-
ever, he read it to us, and it was amusing truly, as if the
old days and speeches were a blank.
Mr. Sumner easily slipped from this subject into
others connected with the Government.
Kate Field said that Judge Russell told her that
President Johnson was no better than a sot, and that
the head of the Washingtonian Home (a refuge for in-
ebriates here) had been sent for, as a man having skill
in such cases, to try to save him. "Is this true, Mr.
Sumner ?" she asked. Mr. Sumner said not one word at
first; then asked, "What authority had Judge Russell
for making such an assertion ? " Kate did not know.
262 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
and I thought on the whole Mr. Sumner, who knew the
man had really been sent for by the President himself,
it is supposed for some other reason, doubted the whole
tale. I doubted it sincerely from the first moment,
and I wonder a man can be left to say such things.
Sumner then continued to describe very vividly what
he had known of Andy Johnson's behavior. When he
left Tennessee to come to Washington to be Vice-Presi-
dent, he travelled with a negro servant and two demi-
johns of whiskey which he dispensed freely, drinking
enough himself at the same time to arrive at Washing-
ton in a maudlin condition, in which state he remained
until after the fourth of March. He was then living at
the hotel, and a young Massachusetts officer, who lived
on the same floor and was obliged to pass Mr. Johnson's
door many times a day, told Mr. S. that during the two
days subsequent to Mr. Johnson's arrival he saw, while
passing his room, and counted twenty-six glasses of
whiskey go in. At length good men interfered ; they
saw delirium tremens or some other dreadful thing
would be the result if this continued, and old Mr. Blair
went with Mr. Preston King and persuaded Mr. John-
son to go down and stay at Mr. Blair's house, and he
surrendered at discretion. It was a small house and a
very quiet family, but they stowed Mr. Johnson away
and Mr. King also, who was kind enough to offer to
take care of him. Shortly after this Mr. Lincoln and
Mr. Sumner had gone down the river in a yacht, and
had landed at General Grant's headquarters. They
were sitting together at two desks reading the papers
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 263
for the day when Mr. Sumner observed a figure darken
the door, and looking up found Mr. Johnson. "Ah, Mr.
Vice-President, how do you do," he said, putting his
papers aside. "Mr. President, here is the Vice-Presi-
dent." Mr. Lincoln arose and extended his hand, but as
Mr. Sumner thought very coldly, and after a short time
they started again for their yacht. Mr. Johnson walked
as far as the wharf, talking with Mr. Lincoln, but when
they arrived there, Mr. Lincoln did not say, " Come with
us and have lunch," or "Come at night and have din-
ner," but bade him simply "Good-bye" there, where
they observed him afterward watching their departure
with Mr. King by his side, who had come to rejoin him.
"This," said Mr. Sumner, "is all Mr. Lincoln saw
of Mr. Johnson. One week after this time the President
was assassinated, and they never met from that hour
until his death."
Mr. Sumner thinks Mr. Beecher is making a danger-
ous and deadly mistake, and told him so. He said fur-
ther to Mr. B. that his anxieties prevented him from
sleeping, that he had not slept for three nights. "I
should think so," Mr. Beecher replied, "you talk like
a man who had been deprived of his natural rest." The
two men have a respect for each other and talk kindly
of each other, but they do not see things from the
same point of view now at all.
Friday morning^ March 21, 1872. — L. W. J. and her
daughter met us at the cars [in New York] bound to go
with us to Washington. A pleasant day's journey we
had of it with their friendly faces to accompany us and
-64 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
with Colonel Winthrop to meet us at the train. The
evening of our arrival Jamie went at once to see Charles
Sumner who lives in a fine house adjoining our hotel.
Nothing could be finer than the situation he has chosen.
He kept J. until midnight and tried to detain him still
longer, but the knowledge that I was waiting for him
made him insist at length upon coming away. He found
him better in health than he had supposed from the
newspapers, and "the same old Sumner," as Jamie
said.
Saturday morning I went in early with J. and passed
the entire morning with the Senator. Several colored
persons came in as we sat there, and those who were
people of eminence were introduced. He talked of lit-
erature and showed us his own curiosities which appear
to be numberless. Jamie was called away, but he urged
me to stay. He said he had sent a message to the Sen-
ate which required a reply and he expected every mo-
ment to hear the sound of hoofs on the pavement, as
he had requested a special messenger to be sent on
horseback. The messenger did not arrive, but I stayed
on all the same until his carriage came to take him to
the Capitol, when he insisted that I should accompany
him. He showed me all the wonders of the place, not
forgetting the doors which Crawford never lived even
to design in clay altogether, but which his wife, de-
siring to have the money, caused to be finished by her
husband's workmen and foisted upon our Government.
They are poor enough. Sumner opposed her in what he
considered a dishonest attempt to get money, but of
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 265
course he could not make an open opposition of this
nature against a lady, the widow of his friend.
Sumner's character is one of the most extraordinary
pictures of opposing elements ever combined in one
person. He is so possessed by Sumner that there is
really no room for the fair existence of another in his
world. Position, popularity, domestic happiness, health,
have one by one been cut away from him, but he still
stands erect, with as large a faith in Sumner and with
as determined a look toward the future as if it beckoned
him to glory and happiness. I suppose he must believe
that the next turn of Fortune's wheel must give him the
favor he has now lost ; but were he another man, all the
honors of the state could hardly recompense him in the
least for what he has lost. He has a firm proud spirit
which his terrible bodily suffering does not appear to
make falter. His health is so precarious that doubtless
a few more adverse strokes would finish him ; but he
has had all there are to have, one would say. His
friends, however, uphold him most tenderly ; letters
from dear Mrs. Child and others lay upon his table urg-
ing him to put away all excitement and try to live for
the service of the state. Public honor, probity, the
high service of his country seem to be the passions which
animate him and by which he endures. He has a mania
for collecting rare books and pictures nowadays and it
is almost pitiful to see how this fancy runs away with
him and how he must frequently be deceived. The
tragedy of his marriage would be far more tragic if it
had left any scar (as far as mortal can discover) save
266 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
upon his pride. I would not do a man whom I hold in
such honor any injustice, but he never seemed in love.
Sunday. — Not well — kept to my room in the Ar-
lington Hotel all day, obliged to refuse to see guests
also, and dear J. has gone alone to dine with Sumner.
I had hoped to see his home once more and to see him
among his peers. There is always a doubt of course,
but especially in his state of health, whether we may
ever meet again. If not, I shall not soon forget his
stately carriage at the Capitol yesterday nor the store
he sets at present upon his counted friends.
He pointed out the great avenue named Massachu-
setts, and the school house named after himself, with
a just and noble pride yesterday. The trees are all
ready to burst into leaf. Read Bayard Taylor's Nor-
wegian story, "Lars" — very sweet and fine it is —
just missing "an excuse for being." L. J. fills us with
new respect and regard. Her devotion to her daughter
is so perfect and so wise.
Jamie returned about i 2 o'clock. There had been a
gorgeous dinner. The guests were Caleb Cushing,
Carl Schurz, Perley Poore, Mr. Hill, J. T. F. The serv-
ice was worthy of the house of an English nobleman,
the feast worthy of Lucullus. It fairly astonished J. to
see Sumner eat. He of course sat at S.'s right. Not a
wine, nor a dish, was left untasted and even the richest
puddings were taken in large quantities. I thought of
poor Mrs. Child and other devout admirers of this their
Republican ( ! ) leader, then of Charlotte Bronte's story
of Thackeray at dinner. Some day, said J., we shall
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 267
take up the paper and find Sumner is no more, and it
will be after one of these dinners.
The talk astonished J., utterly unused as he Is to
look behind the scenes of government. Caleb Gushing,
a man over 70, who appears to have the vigor of 50,
called Stanton "a master of duplicity." Galeb Gushing
said Seward was the first man who introduced ungentle-
manly bearing into the Gablnet. Until he came there,
there was no smoking, no putting up of the feet, but
always a fine courtesy and dignity of behavior was
preserved.
Before leaving the diaries from which so many pages
have already been drawn, before letting the last of the
familiar faces which look out from them fade again from
sight, it would be a pity not to assemble a few entries
recalling notable persons of whom Mrs. Fields made
fragmentary but significant record. Here, for instance,
are glimpses of Henry Ward Beecher, fresh from the
great service he rendered to the Union cause in the
Civil War by his speeches in England.
Tuesday J November 17, 1863. — J. T. F. saw Mr.
Kennard today and we heard from him the particulars
of Mr. Beecher's landing. He came on shore in the
warm fog which was the precursor of the heavy rain
we have today, at 3 o'clock a.m. of Sunday. He went
to the Parker House until day should break and Mr.
Kennard could come and take him to the retirement
o68 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
of Brookline, to pass the day until the train should
leave for New York. News of his arrival getting abroad,
a company of orthodox deacons waited upon him very
early to invite him to preach. "Gentlemen, do you take
me for a fool," he said, "to jump so readily into the
harness of the pulpit even before the fatigue of the voy-
age has worn away ?" He heard of the illness of one of
his younger children and therefore hastened as quickly
as possible toward home.
The day before the one upon which he was to speak
at Exeter Hall he awoke in the morning with a heavy
headache; his voice, too, was seriously impaired by
over-use. He wanted to speak, his whole heart was in
it, yet how in this condition ? He shut himself up in the
house all that day and hoped for better things and went
early to bed that night. The next morning at dawn he
awoke, he opened his eyes quickly. " Is God to suffer me
to do this work ?" He leaped from the bed with a bound.
His head was clear and fresh, but his voice — he hardly
dared to try that. " I will speak to my sister tliree thou-
sand miles away," he said, and cried, "Harriet." The
tones were clear and strong. "Thank God !" he said —
then speedily dressed — trying his voice again and again
— then he sat down and wrote off the heads of his ad-
dress. All he needed to say came freshly and purely to
his mind just in the form he wished. The day ebbed away
and the carriage came to take him to the hall. When
he descended to the street, to his surprise there was a
long file of policemen, through whom he was conducted
because of the crowds waiting about his door. He was
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 269
obliged to descend also at some distance from Exeter
Hall, and he was again conducted through another line
of police before he reached the door. The people pushed
and cried out so that he ran from the carriage towards
the hall ; and one of the staid policemen, observing a
man running, cried out and caught him by the coat-tail
saying he must n't run there, that line was preserved
for the great speaker. "Well, my friend," said Mr.
Beecher, "I can tell you one thing. There won't be
much speaking till I get there." While he hurried on,
he felt a woman lay hold of the skirts of his coat. The
police, seeing her, tried to push her away, but she said
to one of them, "I belong to his party." Mr. B. said,
"I overheard the poor thing, but I thought if she chose
to tell a lie I would not push her away ; but as I neared
the door she crept up and whispered to me, * I am one
of your people. Don't you remember , a Scotch
woman who used to live in Brooklyn and go to the
Plymouth Church ? I have thought of this for weeks
and longed and dreamt of being with you again. Now
my desire is heard.'"
The rest of this wonderful night the public journals
and his own letters can tell us of — have told us. He
has been as it were a man raised up for this dark hour of
our dear Country. May he live to see the promised
land, and not only from the top of Pisgah.
December 10, 1863. — Visit from H. W. Beecher. . . .
Mr. Beecher did not like Mr. Browning. He found him
flippant and worldly. To be sure he had but one inter-
view and could scarcely judge, but had he met the man
270 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
by chance in a company he should never have sought
him a second time. He said of Charles Lamb that he
always reminded him of a honeysuckle growing between
and over a rough trellis; it would cover the stakes, it
would throw out blossoms and tendrils, it would attract
hummingbirds and make corners for their nests and fill
the wide air with its fragrance. Such was C. Lamb to
him.
He was sure he could have liked Mrs. Browning —
so credulous, generous, outspoken. He liked strong
outspoken people, yet he liked serene people too; but
then, he loved the world in its wide variety.
He said his boy wished to be either a stage-driver or a
missionary. His fancy was for stage-driving ; he thought
perhaps his duty might make him a missionary. . . .
It was such a privilege to see him back and such a
privilege to grasp his hand, I could say nothing but be
happy and thankful.
A few years later a passing shape from still an earlier
generation casts its shadow of tragic outline across the
pages of the diary.
Simday, January 6, 1867. — A driving snow-storm.
Last night Jamie went to the Club ; met W. Everett,
who said that while his father was member of Congress
and was at one time returning from Washington to
Boston he was stopped in the street as he passed through
Philadelphia by a haggard man wrapped in a cloak. " I
am Aaron Burr," said the figure, "and I pray you to
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 271
ask Congress for an appropriation to aid me in my mis-
ery." Mr. E. replied that the member from his own
district was the person to whom to apply. "I know
that," was the sad rejoinder, "but the others are all
strangers to me and I pray you to help me." After some
reflection Mr. Everett promised to try to do something
in his behalf; fortunately, however, he was released by
death before Congress was again in session.
Then soon appears a more cheerful figure, in the
person of the Rev. Elijah Kellogg whose lines of "Spar-
tacus to the Gladiators" have resounded in many a
schoolhouse. His tales of the Stowes and the family
Bible may still divert a generation that knows not
Spartacus.
Thursday, January 10, 1867. — Yesterday J. fell in
with a Mr. Kellogg, a clergyman from Harpswell,
Maine, the author of many noble things, among the
rest, of the "Speech of Spartacus" which is in Sargent's
"School Speaker," a piece of which the boys are very
fond, but the masters are obliged to forbid their speak-
ing it because it always takes the prize. He wrote it
while in college, to speak himself. He went to school
with Longfellow, though he is younger than the poet,
and the latter calls him a man of genius. He is a preacher
of the gospel and for the past ten months has been
speaking every Sunday at the Sailor's Bethel with great
effect. He called to see J. and told him some queer anec-
dotes regarding his sea-life. He dresses like a fisherman.
272 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
red shirt, etc., while at home. He remembers Professor
Stowe and his wife well. He says their arrival at Bruns-
wick was looked for with eagerness by many, with some
natural curiosity by himself. One day about the time
they were expected he was in his boat floating near the
pier and preparing to return to his island where he lives,
as the tide was going down and if he delayed much
longer he would be ashore ; but he observed a woman
sitting on a cask upon the wharf swinging her heels,
with two large holes the size of a dollar each in the back
of her stockings, a man standing by her side, and sev-
eral children playing about. At once he believed it
must be the new professor, so he dallied about in his
boat observing them. Presently the man cried out,
"Hallo there, will you give my wife a sail ?" "I can't,"
he replied, "there's n(j wind." "Will you give her a row
then?" "The tide's too low and I shan't get home."
"Oh," said the woman, "we will pay you ; you 'd better
take me out a little way." "No, I can't," he said.
Presently he heard somebody say something about
that 's being the minister and not a fisherman at all.
"Do you think so?" said Mrs. Stowe. With that he
dropped down into the bottom of his boat and was off
before another word.
He told Mr. Fields also of the professor who preceded
Professor Stowe. He was an unmarried man with three
sisters, all of whom were insane at times and frequently
one of them was away from home in an asylum. One
day the brother was away, the eldest sister being at
home in apparently good health, when another pro-
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 273
fessor came to visit them to whom she wished to be
particularly polite. "What will you have for dinner,'*
said she, "today?" "Oh! the best thing you've got,'*
he replied. So when dinner came she had stewed the
family Bible with cabbage for his repast. He speaks
with the greatest enthusiasm of the beauty of that
Maine coast. We must go there.
Out of what seems a past almost pre-Augustan come
these memories of N. P. Willis, a poet who suffered the
misfortune of outliving much of his own fame.
Thursday i January 31, 1867. — The papers of last
night brought the news of N. P. Willis's death and that
he was to be buried in Boston from St. Paul's Church
today. Early this morning a note came from Mrs. Willis
asking Mr. Fields to see Dr. Howe and Edmund Quincy,
to ask them to be pall-bearers with himself and Colonel
Trimble. Fortunately last night J. had seen the an-
nouncement, and before going to Longfellow's made up
his mind to ask Longfellow and Lowell to come in to
assist at the ceremony of their brother-author ; he had
also sent to Professor Holmes before the note came from
Mrs. Willis. He then sent immediately for the others
whom she mentioned and for a quantity of exquisite
flowers. All his plans turned out as he had arranged
and hoped and the poet's grave was attended by the
noblest America had to offer. The dead face was not
exposed, but the people pressed forward to take a sprig
from the coffin in memory of one who had strewn many
274 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
a flower of thought on the hard way of their lives. There
are some to speak hardly of Willis, but usually the
awe of death ennobles his memory to the grateful
world of his appreciators. "Refrain ! refrain !" we long
to say to the others who would carp. "If you have
tears, shed them on the poet's grave."
There had been previously an exquisite and touch-
ing service at Idlewild where Octavius Frothingham did
all a man could do, inspired by the occasion and the
loveliness of the day and scene. The service here would
have seemed cold as stone except for the gracious poets
who surrounded the body and prevented one thought
of chill lack of sympathy from penetrating the flowers
with which it was covered. I could not restrain my
tears when I remembered a few years, bnly two, and
the same company had borne Hawthorne's body to its
burial. Which, which, of that beloved and worshipped
few was next to be borne by the weeping remnant ! !
Wednesday^ July I, 1 868. — In our walk yesterday J.
delighted himself and me by rehearsing his memories of
Willis. J. was at the Astor House when Willis returned
first from Europe with his young bride. He was then the
observed of all observers. As in those days travellers
crossed in sailing vessels, his coming was not heralded ;
the first that was known of their arrival was when he
walked into the Astor with his beautiful young wife
upon his arm. He wore a brown cloak thrown grace-
fully about his shoulders and was a man to remind one
of Lady Blessington's saying, "If Willis had been born
to £10,000 a year he would have been a perfect man."
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 275
He was then at the head of the world of literature in
America ; his influence could do anything and his heart
and purse were both at the service of the needy asker.
Unfortunately from the first he never paid his debts.
J. said he never believed the tales of Willis's dissipa-
tion. He spent money freely even when he had it not.
All the English folk, lords and ladies, who then came
to see America were the guests of Willis.
I asked what his wife was like ! "Like a seraph. She
was lovely with all womanly attractions."
Of the various "causes" to which Mrs. Fields and
her husband paid allegiance, the cause of equal oppor-
tunity for men and women cannot justly be left unmen-
tioned. They espoused it before its friends were taken
with the seriousness they have long commanded, and, as
the following passage will suggest, were full of sym-
pathy with those who fought its early battles. The im-
pact of one of these combatants, Mrs. Mary A. Liver-
more, a reformer in sundry fields, against the rock of
conservatism represented by the President of Harvard
College, is the subject of a lively bit of record.
September 22, 1876. — At four came Miss Phelps, at
six came Mrs. Livermore. Ah ! She is indeed a great
woman — a strong arm to those who are weak, a new
faith in time of trouble. She came to tea as fresh as if
she had been calmly sunning herself all the week in-
stead of speaking at a great meeting at Faneuil Hall
the previous evening and taking cold in the process.
276 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
She talked most wittily and brilliantly, beside laughing
most heartily and merrily over all dear J.'s absurd sto-
ries and illustrations. He told her of a woman who came
to speak to him after one of his lectures, to thank him
for what he was trying to do for the education of women.
She said, "I was educated at home with my brothers
and taught all they were taught, learning my lessons by
their side and reciting with them until the time came for
them to go to college. Nobody ever told me I was not
to go to college ! And when the moment arrived and it
dawned upon me that I was to be left behind to do
nothing, to learn nothing more, I was terribly un-
happy."
"I know just how she felt," said Mrs. Livermore;
"there was a party of six of us girls, sisters and cousins,
who had studied with our brothers up to the time for
going to college. We were all ready, but what was to be
done ? We were told that no girls had entered Harvard
thus far. We said to each other, we six girls will go to
Cambridge and call upon President Quincy, show him
where we stand in our lessons, and ask him to admit
us. I was the youngest of the party. I was noted for
being rather hot and intemperate in speech in those
days, and the girls made me promise before we left the
house [not to speak] — 'For as sure as you do,' they
said, 'you will spoil all.' So I promised, and we went to
Cambridge and found Mr. Quincy. The girls laid their
proposition before him as clearly as they dared, by
showing him what they had done in their lessons. ' Very
smart girls, unusually capable girls,' he said encourag-
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 277
ingly ; ' but can you cook ? ' 'Oh, yes, sir,' said one, ' we
have kept house for some time.' 'Highly important,'
he said ; and so on during the space of an hour."
Mrs. Livermore said she found he was toying with
them and they were as far away from the subject in
their minds as the moment they arrived, and, forgetting
her promise of silence, she said : " ' But, Mr. Quincy,
what we came to ask is, will you allow us to come to
college when our brothers do ? You say we are suffi-
ciently prepared ; is there anything to prevent our
admission ? ' * Oh, yes, my dear, we never allow girls
at Harvard ; you know, the place for girls is at home.'
'Yes, but, Mr. Quincy, if we are prepared, we would
not ask to recite, but may we not attend the recitations
and sit silent in the classes ? ' ' No, my dear, you may
not.' 'Then I wish — ' 'What do you wish?' he said.
*I wish I were God for one instant, that I might kill
every woman from Eve down and let you have a mas-
culine world all to yourselves and see how you would
like that.' Up to this point the girls had been kept up
by excitement, but there we broke down. I tried the
best I could not to cry, but I found my eyes were get-
ting full, and the only thing for us to do was to leave as
soon as we could for home. We lived in the vicinity of
Copp's Hill and I can see, as distinctly as if it were
yesterday, the room looking out on the burial-ground
in which we all sat down together and cried ourselves
half-blind. 'I wish I was dead,' said one. 'I wish I had
never been born,' said another. 'Martha, get up from
that stone seat,' said a third ; 'you'll get cold.' 'I don't
278 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
care if I do,' said Martha; 'I shall perhaps die the
sooner.' We were all terribly indignant."
I was deeply interested in this history. I was stand-
ing over the cradle of woman's emancipation and seeing
it rocked by the hand of sorrow and indignation.
Other passages might be cited merely to illustrate the
skill and industry of Mrs. Fields in reducing to narra-
tive form the mass of reported talk of one sort or an-
other which her husband brought home to her. A strik-
ing instance of this is found in the full rendering of a
story told by R. H. Dana, Jr., to Fields, at a time when
they were discussing a new edition of "Two Years
before the Mast." It is a long dramatic account of
Dana's experience on a burning ship in the Pacific,
which he told Fields he had "never yet found time to
write down." In Charles Francis .Adams's biography
of Dana, the bare bones of the story are preserved in a
diary Dana was keeping during the voyage in which
this calamity occurred. If .Adams could but have turned
to the diary of Mrs. Fields for 1868, he would have
found a detailed description of an episode in Dana's
lite which might well have been included in his biog-
raphy.
Hut the if's of bookmaking are hardly less abundant
than those of history. If, for a single instance, this were
in any real sense a biography of Mrs. Fields, it would be
necessary for the reader to explore with the compiler the
journals and letters written during two visits the
Fieldses made to Europe in 1859 ^"^ 1869. But this
STAGE FOLK AND OTHERS 279
would be foreign to the present purpose, which has not
been either to produce a biography, or to evoke all the
interesting persons known to Mrs. Fields, at home and
abroad, but rather to present them and her against her
y ^ Z/' ''/' y ^
From a letter of Edward Lear s to Fields
own intimate and distinctive background. She herself
has written, in her "Authors and Friends," of Tennyson
and Lady Tennyson, and to the pictures she has drawn
of them it would be easily possible to add fresh lines
from the unprinted records — as it would be, also, to
bring forth passages touching upon many another famil-
iar figure of Victorian England. The roving lover who
justified himself by singing that
They were my visits, but thou art my home,
Stated, in essence, the principle to which these pages
have adhered. The frequenters of the house in Charles
Street well knew that something of its color and flavor
28o MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
was derived from the excursions its hostess made into
other scenes. Yet her own color and flavor were not
those of the visitor, but of the visited. It is a pity that
many who would have been welcome visitors — none
more than Edward Lear — never came. Even as it is,
there is ample ground for laying the emphasis of this
book upon the panorama of a picturesque social life
chiefly as seen from within the hospitable walls of Mr.
and Mrs. Fields. When he died in i88l, a long and
happy chapter in her long and happy life came to its
close.
VII
SARAH ORNE JEWETT
Such a statement about Mrs. Fields as that she "was
to survive her husband many years and was to flourish
as a copious second volume — the connection licenses
the figure — of the work anciently issued," almost iden-
tifies itself, without remark, as proceeding from the
same friend, Henry James, whose words have colored a
previous chapter of this book. The many years to which
he referred were, indeed, nearly thirty-four in number,
about a third of a century, or what is commonly counted
a generation. For a longer period than that through
which she was the wife of James T. Fields, she was thus
his widow. Through nearly all of this period the need
of her nature for an absorbing affectionate intimacy was
met through her friendship with Sarah Orne Jewett.
It was with reference to her that Mrs. Fields, in the
preface to a collection of Miss Jewett's letters, published
in 191 1, two years after her death, wrote of "the power
that lies in friendship to sustain the giver as well as the
receiver." In the friendship of these two women it
would have been impossible to define either one, to the
exclusion of the other, as the giver or the receiver.
They were certainly both sustained by their relation.
Miss Jewett, born in South Berwick, Maine, in 1849,
and continuously identified with that place until her
death in 1909, first entered the "Atlantic circle" in
282 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
1869, when she was but twenty years old, and Fields
was still editor of the magazine. In that year a story
by her, called "Mr. Bruce" and credited in the index
of the magazine — for contributions then appeared
unsigned — to "A. C. Eliot," was printed in the "Atlan-
tic." Four years later, Consule Hovoellsy "The Shore
House," a second story, appeared over her own name,
the practiceof printing signatures havingmeanwhile been
instituted. In May, 1875, the "Atlantic" contained a
poem by Miss Jewett, which may be quoted, not so
much to remind the readers of those stories of New Eng-
land on which her later fame was based, that in her
earlier years she was much given to the writing of verse,
as to explain in a way the union — there is no truer
word for it — that came later to exist between herself
and Mrs. Fields.
Thus it read : —
TOGETHER
I wonder if you really send
Those dreams of you that come and go!
I like to say, "She thought of me,
And I have known it." Is it so?
Though other friends walk by your side,
Vet sometimes it must surely be,
They wonder where your thoughts have gone.
Because I have you here with me.
And when the busy day is done
And work is ended, voices cease,
When every one has said good night,
In fading firelight, then in peace
SARAH ORNE JEWETT
SARAH ORNE JEWETT 283
I Idly rest : you come to me, —
Your dear love holds me close to you.
If I could see you face to face
It would not be more sweet and true;
I do not hear the words you speak,
Nor touch your hands, nor see your eyes :
Yet, far away the flowers may grow
From whence to me the fragrance flies;
And so, across the empty miles
Light from my star shines. Is it, dear,
Your love has never gone away ?
I said farewell and — kept you here.
It was not strange that the writer of just such a poem
should have seemed to Fields, before his death in 1881,
the ideal friend to fill the impending gap in the life of his
wife. He must have known that, when the time should
come for readjusting herself to life without him, she
would need something more than random contacts with
friends, no matter how rewarding each such relation-
ship might be. He must have realized that the intensely
personal element in her nature would require an outlet
through an intensely personal devotion. If he could
have foreseen the relation that grew up between Mrs.
Fields and Miss Jewett — her junior by about fifteen
years — almost immediately upon his death, and con-
tinued throughout the life of the younger friend, he
would surely have felt a great security of satisfaction in
what was yet to be. In all her personal manifestations,
and in all her work. Miss Jewett embodied a quality of
distinction, a quality of the true aristophile^ — to em-
284 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
ploy a term which has seemed to me before to fit that
small company of lovers of the best to which these ladies
preeminently belonged, — that made them foreordained
companions. To Mrs. Fields it meant much to stand in
a close relation — apart from all considerations of a
completely uniting friendship — with such an artist as
Miss Jewett, to feel that through sympathy and en-
couragement she was furthering a true and permanent
contribution to American letters. To Miss Jewett,
whose life, before this intimacy began, had been led
almost entirely in the Maine village of her birth, — a
village of dignity and high traditions that were her
own inheritance, — there came an extension of in-
terests and stimulating contacts through finding her-
self a frequent member of another household than her
own, and that a very nucleus of quickening human
intercourse. To pursue her work of writing chiefly at
South Berwick, to come to Boston, or Manchester, for
that freshening of the spirit which the creative writer so
greatly needs, and there to find the most sympathetic
and devoted of friends, also much occupied herself
with the writing of books and with all commerce of vital
thoughts — what could have afforded a more delight-
ful arrangement of life ?
Even as early as 1881, the year of Fields's death.
Miss Jewett published the fourth of her many books,
"Country By-Ways," preceded by "Deephaven"
(1877), "Play Days" (1878), and "Old Friends and
New" (1879). From 1881 onward her production was
constant and abundant. In 188 1 also began a period of
H^^^^^^^HI^^^BSfl '"' '"VBHBI^H^BI^H^
1 1 1
SARAH ORNE JEWETT 285
remarkable productiveness on the part of Mrs. Fields.
In that very year of her husband's death she published
both her "James T. Fields: Biographical Notes and
Personal Sketches," and a second edition of "Under the
Olive," a small volume in which she had brought to-
gether in 1880 a number of poems in which the influence
of the Greek and English poets is sometimes manifested
— notably in "Theocritus" — to excellent purpose.
If Mrs. Fields had been a poet of distinctive power, the
fact would long ago have established itself. To make
any such claim for her at this late day would be to de-
part from the purpose of this book. It was for the most
part rather as a friend than as a daughter of the Muses
that she turned to verse, the medium of utterance for so
many of that nest of singing-birds in which her life was
passed. In 1883 came her little volume "How to Help
the Poor," representing an interest in the less fortunate
which prepared her to become one of the founders of the
Associated Charities of Boston, kept her long active and
influential in the service of that organization, and made
her at the last one of its generous benefactors. In 1895
and 1900, respectively, appeared two more volumes of
verse, "The Singing Shepherd and Other Poems,"
assembling the work of earlier and later years, and
"Orpheus, a Masque," each strongly touched, like
"Under the Olive," with the Grecian spirit. From
"The Singing Shepherd" I cannot resist quoting one of
the best things it contains — a sonnet, "Flamman-
tis Moenia Mundi," under which, in my own copy of
the book, I find the penciled note, written probably
286 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
more than twenty years ago : "Mrs. Fields tells me that
this sonnet came to her complete, one may almost say;
standing on her feet she made it, but for one or two
small changes, just as it is, in about fifteen minutes."
I stood alone in purple space and saw
The burning walls of the world, like wings of flame,
Circling the sphere; there was no break nor flaw
In those vast airy battlements whence came
The spirits who had done with time and fame
And all the playthings of earth's little hour;
I saw them each, I knew them for the same.
Mothers and brothers and the sons of power.
Yet were they changed; the flaming walls haii burneil
Their perishable selves, and there rcmaineil
Only the pure white vision of the soul.
The mortal part consumed, and swift returnetl
Ashes to ashes; while unscathed, unstained,
The immortal passed beyond the earth's control.
I'or the rest, her writings may be said to have grown
out of the life which the pages of her diary have pic-
tured. The successive volumes were these : "Whittier :
Notes of his Life and of his Friendship" (New York,
1893); "A Shelf of Old Books" (New York, 1894);
"Letters of Celia Thaxter" (edited with Miss Rose
Lamb, Boston, 1895) ; "Authors and Friends" (Boston,
1896); "Life and Letters of Harriet Bcecher Stowe"
(Boston, 1897) ; "Nathaniel Hawthorne" (in the "Bea-
con Biographies," Boston, 1899); "Charles Dudley
Warner" (New York, 1909) ; and, after the death of
the friend whose name appears above this chapter,
"Letters of Sarah Orne Jewett" (Boston, 1911).
This catalogue of publications is in itself a dry bit of
SARAH ORNE JEWETT 287
reading, and to add the titles of all the books produced
by Miss Jewett after 1881 would not enliven the record.
But the lists, explicit and implicit, will serve at least
to suggest the range and nature of the activities of
/ic- '^/Wy /<!^J ^o3l ^f^f>oi ii^^ /^^ /E^*^^^>^**^
^ ^Ot-iJ ^^^ J^j>9, ^ A-ftea^f />y€^ )4r '^L '^^
7^ -^/y A4 ifi^ /5/v*^^^*«^^ ^U<^ f^c<:e^ •3^i^li,a«^
An autograph copy of Mrs. Fields' s '"''Flammayitis Moenia Mundi "
bejore its final revision
mind and spirit in which the two friends shared for
many years. It is no wonder that Mrs. Fields, who
abandoned the regular maintenance of her diary in the
face of her husband's failing health, resumed it in later
years only under the special provocations of travel.
In its place she took up the practice of writing daily
missives — sometimes letters, more often the merest
288 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
notes — to Miss Jewett whenever they were separated.
These innumerable little messages of affection con-
tained frequent references to persons and passing events,
but rather as memoranda for talk when the two friends
should meet than as records at all resembling the ear-
lier journals. Such local friends as Mrs. Pratt and Mrs.
Bell, in whom the spirit and wit of their father, Ru-
fus Choate, shone on for later generations; Mrs. Whit-
man, mistress of the arts of color and of friendship;
Miss Guiney, figuring always as "the Linnet," even as
Mrs. Thaxter was "the Sandpiper"; Dr. Holmes, Phil-
lips Brooks, "dear Whitticr" — these and scores of
others, young and old, known and unknown to fame,
people the scene which the little notes recall. There
arc, besides, such visitors from abroad as Matthew Ar-
nold and his wife, Mrs. Humphry Ward and her daugh-
ter, M. and Mme. Brunetierc, and Mmc. Blanc ("Th.
Bentzon"), whose article, "Condition de la Femme aux
Etats-Unis," in the "Revue des Deux Mondes" for
September, 1 894, could not have been written but for
the knowledge of Boston acquired through a long visit
to the house in Charles Street. Of the salon of her
hostess she wrote: "Je voudrais essayer de pein-
dre celui qui se rapproche le plus, par beaucoup de
cotes, les salons de France de la meilleure epoque, le
salon de Mrs. J. T. Fields." She goes on to paint it,
and from the picture at least one fragment — apropos
of the portraits in the house — should be rescued, if
only for the piquancy conferred by Mme. Blanc's na-
tive tongue upon a bit of anecdote: "Emerson realise
SARAH ORNE JEWETT 289
bien, en physique, I'idee d'immaterialite que je me fal-
sals de lui. Mrs. Fields me conte une jolie anecdote :
vers la fin de sa vie, il fut prit d'un singulier acces de
curiosite ; il voulut savoir une fois ce que c'etait le whis-
ky et entra dans un bar pour s'en servir : — Vous vou-
lez un verre d'eau, Mr. Emerson ? dit le garjon, sans
lui donner le temps d'exprimer sa criminelle envie.
Et le philosophe but son verre d'eau, . . . et il mourut
sans connaitre le gout du whisky."
But if the notes of Mrs. Fields to Miss Jewett, and
Miss Jewett's own letters to her friend in Boston, do
not provide any counterpart to the diaries which make
up the greater portion of this book, there are, in the
journals kept by Mrs. Fields on special occasions of
travel, records of experiences shared by the two friends
which should be given here.
When they went to Europe together, as early as 1882,
the two travellers were happily characterized by Whit-
tier in a sonnet, "Godspeed," as
her in whom
All graces and sweet charities unite
The old Greek beauty set in holier light ;
And her for whom New England's byways bloom,
Who walks among us welcome as the Spring,
Calling up blossoms where her light feet stray.
No effort or adventure seemed to daunt the compan-
ions in their journeyings. There was an indomitable
quality in Mrs. Fields which Miss Jewett used to as-
cribe to her "May blood," with its strain of aboli-
tionism, and it showed itself when she accepted with
290 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
enthusiasm, and successfully urged Miss Jcwett to ac-
cept, an invitation to make a two months' winter cruise
in West Indian waters, in company with Mr. and Mrs.
Aldrich, on the yacht Hermione of their friend, Henry
L. Pierce. The diary of Mrs. Fields records discomforts
and pleasures with an equal hand, and gives lively
glimpses of island and ocean scenes. At Santo Do-
mingo, for example, the President of the Republic of
Haiti dined on the Hermione on St. Valentine's Day,
1896, and talked in a manner to which the impending
liberation of Cuba from the Spanish yoke may now be
seen to have added some significance.
Anything more interesting than his conversation
[wrote Mrs. Fields] would be impossible to find. He
ended just before we left the table by speaking of Cuba.
He is inclined to believe that the day of Spain is over.
The people are already conquerors in the interior and
are approaching Havana. Spain will soon be compelled
to retire to her coast defenses and she is sure to be driven
thence in two years or sooner. Of course, if the Cubans
arc recognized by the great powers they will triumph
all the sooner.
"Do these island republics take the part of Cuba?"
someone asked.
"I will tell you a little talc of a camel," he said, "if
you will allow me — a camel greatly overladen who
lamented his sad fate. *I am bent to the earth,' he
said; 'everything is heaped upon me and I feel as if I
could never rise again under such a load.* Upon his
SARAH ORNE JEWETT 291
pack was seated a flea, who heard the lament of the
camel. Immediately the flea jumped to the ground.
* See 1 ' he said ; ' now rise, I have relieved you of my own
weight.' 'Thank you, Mr. Elephant,' said the camel,
as he glanced at the flea hopping away. The recognition
of these islands would help Cuba about as much," he
added laughingly.
But the President of Haiti, concerning whom much
more might be quoted, is less a part of the present
picture than Thomas Bailey Aldrich, of whom Mrs.
Fields wrote, February 21 : —
T. B. A.'s wit and pleasant company never fail —
he is so natural, finding fault at times, without being a
fault-finder, and being crusty like another human crea-
ture when out of sorts — but on the whole a most re-
freshing companion, coming up from below every morn-
ing with a shining countenance, his hair curling like a
boy's, and ready for a new day. He said yesterday that
he should like to live 450 years — "shouldn't you?"
"No," I said; "I am on tip-toe for the flight." "Ah,"
he said with a visible shudder, "we know nothing about
it 1 Oddly enough, I have strange impressions of hav-
ing lived before — once in London especially — not at
St. Paul's, or Pall Mall, or in any of the great places
where I might have been deceived by previous imagina-
tions, — not at all, — but among some old streets where
I had never been before and where I had no associa-
tions." He would have gone on in this vein and would
i9:i MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
have drawn me into giving some reasons for my faith
which would have been none to him, but fortunately
we were interrupted. He is full of quips and cranks in
talk — is a worshipper of the English language and a
good student of Murray's Grammar, in which he faith-
fully believes. His own training in it he values as much
as anything which ever came to him. He picks up the
unfortunates, of which I am chief, who say "people"
meaning "persons," who say "at length" for "at last,"
and who use foolish redundancies, but I cannot seem to
record his fun. He began to joke Bridget early in the
voyage about the necessity of being tattooed when she
arrived at the Windward Islands, like the rest of the
crew ! Fancying that he saw a sort of half idea that he
was in earnest, he kept it up and told her that the butter-
mark of Ponkapog should be the device ! The matter
had nearly blown over when yesterday he wanted her
suddenly and called, " Bridget," at the gangway rather
sharply. "Here, sir," said the dear creature running
quickly to mount the stairs. "The tattoo-man is here,"
said T. B. With all seriousness Bridget paused a mo-
ment, wavered, looked again, and then came on laugh-
ing to do what he really wanted. "That man will be
the death of me — so he will," said B. as she went away
on her errand. She is his slave; gets his clothes and
waits upon him every moment; but his fun and sweet-
ness with her " deseunuie de service ^^ and more, charges
it with pleasantness.
T. B. A. is a most careful reader and a true reporter
upon the few good books of which he is cognizant. He
SARAH ORNE JEWETT 293
has read Froude's history twice through, and Queen
Mary's reign three times. He has read a vast number
of novels, hundreds and hundreds, — French and Eng-
lish, — but his knowledge of French seems to stop there.
He also once knew Spanish, but that seems to have
dropped — he never, I think, could speak much of any
language save his own. Being a master there is so much
more than the rest of us achieve that we feel he has won
his laurels.
On a later journey, in 1898, Mrs. Fields and Miss
Jewett, visiting England and France in company with
Miss Jewett's sister and nephew, were on more famil-
iar and more suitable ground — if indeed that word
can be used even figuratively for the unstable deck of
a yacht. In London there were many old and new
friends to be seen. In Paris Mme. Blanc opened for the
travellers the doors of many a salon not commonly
accessible to visiting Americans. But from all the
abundant chronicle of these experiences, it will be
enough to make two selections. The first describes a
visit to the Provencal poet. Mistral, with his "Boufflo
Beel" dog and hat; the second, a glimpse of Henry
James at Rye.
It was in May of 1898, that Mrs. Fields and Miss
Jewett, finding Paris cold and rainy, determined to
strike for sunshine, and the South. A little journey
into Provence, and a visit to Mistral, followed this de-
cision. The following notes record the visit.
294 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
A perfect time and perfect weather in which to see the
country of Provence. Fields of great white poppies and
other flowers planted for seed in this district made the
way beautiful on either hand. Olive trees with rows of
black cypress and old tiled-roofed farmhouses, and the
mountains always on the horizon, filled the landscape.
The first considerable house we reached was the home
of the poet. A pretty garden which attracted our atten-
tion with a rare eglantine called La Reine Joanne, and
other charming things hanging over the wall made us
suspicious of the poet's vicinity. Turning the corner
of this garden and driving up a short road, we found
the courtyard and door on the inner side as it were.
We heard a barking dog. "Take care," said the driver,
"there is a dangerous dog inside." We waited until
Mistral himself came to meet us from the garden; he
was much amused. There was an old dog tied, half
asleep, on a bench and a young one by his side. He
said laughing, "These are all, and they could not be
less dangerous. The elder" (he let them loose while
he spoke and they played about us), "the elder I call
Houfl^e, from Boufflo Beel" (Mistral does not speak
any English, nor does his wife) "and the reason is be-
cause I happened to be in the neighborhood of Paris
once just after Hurfalo Bill had passed on toward Calais
with his troupe. I saw a little dog, unlike the dogs of
our country, who seemed to be lost, but the moment he
saw me, he thought I was 'Boufllo Beel' and adopted
me for his master. You see I look like him," he said,
putting his wide felt hat a little more on one side ! Yes,
MISTRAL, MASTER OF -BOUFFLO REEL'
SARAH ORNE JEWETT 295
we did think so. "Well, the little dog has been with us
ever since. He possesses the most wonderful intelli-
gence and understands every word we say. One day I
said to him, 'What a pity such a nice dog as you should
have no children !' A few days later the servant said to
me, 'Bouffe has been away nearly two days, but he
has now come back bringing his wife.' 'Ahl' I said,
*take good care of them both.' In due time this other
little dog, his son, arrived in the world,'and shortly after
Bouffe carried his wife away again, but kept the little
dog. He is a wonderful fellow, to be sure."
We went into the house and sat down to talk awhile
about poetry and books. There was a large book-case
full of French and Provencal literature here, but it was
rather the parlor and everyday sitting-room than his
work-room. Unhappily, they have no children. Evi-
dently they are exceedingly happy together and natur-
ally do not miss what they have never had. She opened
the drawing-room for us, which is the room of state. It
is full of interesting things connected with Provence
and their own life, but perfectly simple, in accord with
the country-like fashion of their existence. There is
a noble b^s-relief of the head of Mistral, the drum or
"tambour" of the Felibre, or for the Farandole, and,
without overloading, plenty of good things — photo-
graphs, one or two pictures, not many, for the house is
not that of a rich man, plaster casts, and one or two
busts, — perhaps the presents of artists, — illustrations
of "Mireio," and things associated with their individual
lives or the life of Provence. Presently Mistral gave me
296 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
his arm and we went across the hall. Standing in the
place of honor opposite the front door and in the large
corner made by the staircase, is a fine copy of the bust of
Lamartine, crowned with an olive wreath. We paused
a moment here while Mistral spoke of Lamartine, and
always with the sincere reverence which he has ex-
pressed in the poem entitled " Elcgie sur la mort de
Lamartine^ . . .
The dining-room was still more Provencal, if possible,
than the rooms we had visited. The walls were white,
which, with the closed green blinds, must give a pleas-
ant light when the days are hot, yet bright even on grey
days. Specimens of the pottery of the country hang
around, decorated with soft colors. The old carved
bread-mixing-and-holding affair, which belonged in
every well-to-do house of the old time, was there, and
one or two other old pieces of furniture, while the chairs,
sofa, and table were of quaint shape, painted green with
some decorations.
The details are all petty enough, but they proved how
sincerely Mistral and his wife love their country and
their surroundings and endeavor to ennoble them and
make the most of them. .After sitting at table and en-
joying their hospitality, we went out again into the gar-
den where Madame Mistral gathered "Nerto" (myrtle)
for us, beside roses and other more beautiful but more
formidable things. "Nerto "is the titleof one of his last
books (I hear) and the wife doubtless believed that we
should cherish a branch of her myrtle especially in mem-
ory of the visit. She was quite right, but these things
SARAH ORNE JEWETT 297
which are "to last" — how frail they are; the things
that remain are those which are written on the heart.
We cannot forget these two picturesque beings stand-
ing in their garden, filling our hands with flowers and
bidding us farewell. As we drove away into the sunny
plain once more, we found it speaking to us with a
voice of human kindness echoing from that poetic and
friendly home. In a more personal vein, the address to
Lamartine by Mistral expresses better his mood of the
afternoon when we stood together looking at the bust
and recalling each our personal remembrance of the
An excursion from London, on September I2, de-
voted to a day with Henry James, gave Mrs. Fields a
memorable glimpse of the son of an old friend, and an
honest pleasure in learning at first hand of his apprecia-
tion of Miss Jewett's writings.
Monday J September 13, 1898. — We left London
about II o'clock for Rye, to pass the day with Mr.
Henry James. He was waiting for us at the station
with a carriage, and in five minutes we found ourselves
at the top of a silent little winding street, at a green
door with a brass knocker, wearing the air of impene-
trable respectability which is so well known in England.
Another instant and an old servant, Smith (who with
his wife has been in Mr. James's service for 20
years), opened the door and helped us from the car-
riage. It was a prettv interior — large enough for ele-
298 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
gance, and simple enough to suit the severe taste of a
scholar and private gentleman.
Mr. James was intent on the largest hospitality.
We were asked upstairs over a staircase with a pretty
balustrade and plain green drugget on the steps ; every-
thing was of the severest plainness, but in the best
taste, "not at all austere," as he himself wrote us.
We soon went down again after leaving our hats, to
find a young gentleman, Mr. McAlpine, who is Mr.
James's secretary, with him, awaiting us. This young
man is just the person to help Mr. James. He has a
bump of reverence and appreciates his position and
opportunity. We sat in the parlor opening on a pretty
garden for some time, until Mr. James said he could
not conceive why luncheon was not ready and he must
go and inquire, which he ilid in a very responsible man-
ner, and soon after Smith appeared to announce the
feast. Again a pretty room and table. We enjoyed our
talk together sincerely at lunchecMi and afterward
strolled into the garden. The dominating note was
dear Mr. James's pleasure in having a home of his own
to which he might ask us. From the garden, of course,
we could see the pretty old house still more satisfac-
torily. An old brick wall concealed by vines and
laurels surrounds the whole irregular domain ; a door
from the garden leads into a paved courtyard which
seemed to give Mr. James peculiar satisfaction; re-
turning to the garden, and on the other side, at an angle
with the house, is a building which he laughingly called
the temple of the Muse. This is his own place par excel-
Lamb House.
Rye.
Sussex.
^<;
^^^t^ ^>...^^ ..^i:.^-^^ i^ >^ '^^^"^'^M.
Reduced jacsimtle oj postscript of a letter from Henry James,
expressing the intention, which he could not fulfill, to provide
an Introduction to the ''''Letters of Sarah Orne Jewett"
joo MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
lence. A good writing-table and one for his secretary, a
typewriter, books, and a sketch by Du Maurier, with
a few other pictures (rather mementoes than works of
art), excellent windows with clear light, such is the
temple ! Evidently an admirable spot for his work.
After we returned to the oarlor Mr. James took oc-
casion to tell Sarah how deeolv and sincerely he appre-
ciated her work; how he re-reads it with increasing ad-
miration. "It is foolish to ask, I know," he said, "but
were you in just such a place as vou describe in the
'Pointed Firs'?" "No," she said, "not precisely; the
book was chiefly written before I visited the locality
itself." "And such an island?" he continued. "Not
exactly," she said again. "Ah! I thought so," he said
musingly; and the language — "It is so absolutely true
— not a word overdone — such elegance and exactness."
"And Mrs. Dennet — how admirable she is," he said
again, not waiting for a reply. I need not say they
were very much at home together after this.
Meanwhile the carriage came again to the door, for
he had made a plan to take us on a drive to Winchel-
sea, a second of the Cinq Portes, Rye itself also being
one. The sea has retreated from both these places,
leaving about two miles of the Romney Marsh between
them and the shore. Nothing could be more like some-
thing bom of the imagination than the old city of VVin-
chelsea. . . . Just outside the old gate looking towards
Rye and the sea from a lonely height is the cottage
where Ellen Terry has found a summer resting-place
and retirement. It is a true home for an artist — nothing
SARAH ORNE JEWETT 301
could be lovelier. Unhappily she was not there, but we
were happy to see the place which she described to us
with so great satisfaction.
From Winchelsea Mr. James drove us to the station,
where we took the train for Hastings. He had brought
his small dog, an aged black and tan terrier, with him
for a holiday. He put on the muzzle, which all dogs
just now must wear, and took it off a great many times
until, having left it once when he went to buy the tick-
ets and recovered it, he again lost it and it could not be
found ; so as soon as he reached Hastings, he took a car-
riage again to drive us along the esplanade, but the first
thing was to buy a new muzzle. This esplanade is three
miles long, but we began to feel hke tea, so having
looked upon the sea sufficiently from this decidedly un-
romantic point of view, we went into a small shop and
enjoyed more talk under new conditions. "How many
cakes have you eaten?" "Ten," gravely replied Mr.
James — at which we all laughed. "Oh, I know," said
the girl with a wise look at the desk. "How do you sup-
pose they know.^" said Mi. James musingly as he
turned away. "They always do!" And so on again
presently to the train at Hastings, where Mr. McAl-
pine appeared at the right instant. Mr. James's train
for Rye left a few moments before ours for London. He
took a most friendly farewell and having left us to Mr.
McA. ran for his own carriage. In another five minutes
we too were away, bearing our delightful memories of
this meeting.
302 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
Not because they record momentous events and en-
counters, but merely as little pictures of the life which
Mrs. Fields and Miss Jewett led together, these passages
are brought to light. They are the last to be presented
here. For more than another decade beyond the summer
of 1898, Miss Jewett, sorely invalided through the final
years as the result of a carriage accident, remained the
central personal fact in Mrs. Fields's interest and affec-
tions. Soon after her death, in June, 1909, Mrs. Fields
wrote about her to a common friend: "Of my dear
Sarah — I believe one of her noblest qualities was her
great generosity. Others could only guess at this, but
I was allowed to know it. Not that she made gifts, but
a wide sympathy was hers for every disappointed or
incompetent fellow creature. It was a most distinguish-
ing characteristic! Governor Andrew spoke of Judge
B once as *A friend to every man who did not
need a friend' ! Sarah's quick sympathy knew a friend
was in need before she knew it herself; she was the
spirit of beneficence, and her quick delicate wit was
such a joy in daily companionship!"
Of this daily companionship an anonymous contrib-
utor to the "Atlantic Monthly" for August, 1909, had
been a fortunate witness. I need not ask his permission
to repeat a portion of what he then wrote : —
"There is but one familiar portrait of Miss Jewett.
It has been so often reprinted that many who have seen
it, even without seeing her, must think of her as im-
mune from change, blessed with perpetual youth, with
a gracious, sympathetic femininity, with an air of
SARAH ORNE JEWETT 303
breeding and distinction quite independent of shifting
fashions.
"This portrait is intimately symbolic of her work. It
typifies with a rare faithfulness the quality of all the
products of her pen. In them one found, and finds, the
same abiding elements of beauty, sympathy, and dis-
tinction. The element of sympathy — perhaps the
greatest of these — found its expression in a humor that
provoked less of outward laughter than of smiles within,
and in a pathos the very counterpart of this delicate
quality. The beauty and the distinction may be less
capable of brief characterization, but they pervaded her
art. . . .
"This work of hers, in dealing with the New England
life she knew and loved, was essentially American, as
purely indigenous as the pointed firs of her own coun-
tryside. The art with which she wrought her native
themes was limited, on the contrary, by no local bound-
aries. At its best it had the absolute quality of the
highest art in every quarter of the globe. And the spirit
in which she approached her task was as broad in its
scope and sympathy as her art in its form. It was pre-
cisely this union of what was at once so clearly Ameri-
can and so clearly universal that distinguished her
stories, in the eyes of both editor and reader, as the
best — so often — in any magazine that contained them,
"Her constant demand upon herself was for the best.
There were no compromises with mediocrity, either in
her tastes or in her achievement s. It was the best as-
pect of New England character and tradition on which
304 MEMORIES OF A HOSTESS
her vision steadily dwelt. She was satisfied with noth-
ing short of the best in her interpretation of New Eng-
land life. The form of creative writing in which she
won her highest successes — the short story — is the
form in which Americans have made their most dis-
tinctive contributions to English literature; and her
place with the few best of these writers appears to be
secure.
"If the familiar portrait typifies her work, it is equally
true to the person herself. The quick, responsive spirit
of youth, with all its sincerity, all its enjoyment in
friendship or whatever else the day might hold, was an
immutable possession. So were all the other qualities
for which the features spoke. Through the recent years
of physical disability, due in the first instance to an acci-
dent so gratuitous that it seemed to her friends unendur-
able, there was a noble patience, a sweet endurance,
that could have sprung only from an heroic strain of
character."
For nearly six years Mrs. Fields survived Miss Jew-
ett, bereaved as by the loss of half her personal world,
yet indomitable of spirit and energy, so long as her phys-
ical forces would permit any of the old accustomed exer-
cises of hospitality and friendship. The selection and
publication of Miss Jewett's letters was a labor of love
which continued the sense of companionship for the
first two of the remaining years. Through the four
others there was a failing of bodily strength, though not
at all of mental and spiritual eagerness; and in her out-
ward mien through all the later years, there was that
SARAH ORNE JEWETT 305
which must have recalled to many the ancient couplet : —
No Spring, nor summer's beauty hath such grace
As I have seen in one autumnal face.
Towards the end there was a brief return to the keep-
ing of a sporadic diary. Its final words, written Janu-
ary 25, 1913, were these: "The days go on cheerfully.
I have just read Mark Twain's Hfe, the life of a man
who had greatness in him. I am now reading his
'Joan of Arc' I hope to wait as cheerfully as he did
for the trumpet call and as usefully, but I am ready."
When Mrs. Fields died and the Charles Street door
was finally closed, at the beginning of 191 5, the world
had entered upon its first entire year of a new era. It is
an era as sharply separated from that of her intimate
contemporaries, the American Victorians, as any new
from any old order. The figures of every old order take
their places by degrees as "museum pieces," objects of
curious and sometimes condescending study. But let us
not be too sure that in parting with the past we have let
it keep only that which can best be spared. We would
not wish them back, those Victorians of ours. They
were the product of their own day, and would be hardly
at ease — poor things — in our twentieth-century Zion.
Even some of us who inhabit it gain a sense of rest in
reentering their quiet, decorous dwelling-places. As we
emerge again from one of them, may it be with a re-
newed allegiance to those lasting " things that are more
excellent," which belong to every generation of civilized
men and women.
INDEX
Page numbers set in bold-faced type indicate, generally speaking,
the more important references to the persons concerned. As a com-
plete list of the pages on which Mr. or Mrs. Fields, or both, are
mentioned would include substantially the whole book, only a few
of the more significant references to them have been selected for
inclusion under their names.
Adams, Annie, marries J.T. F., ii.
And see Fields, Annie.
Adams, Charles F., Jr., 278.
Adams, Lizzie, 20.
Adams, Zabdiel B., 11.
Agassiz, Alexander, 256, 257, 258.
Agassiz, Elizabeth C, 159.
Agassiz, Louis, 48, 93, 105, 141.
Alcott, A. Branson, 63, 72-77, 81, 82,
95.
Alcott, Mrs. A. Branson, 63.
Alcott, Louisa M., 73.
Alden, Henry M., 57, 89.
Aldrich, Lilian (Woodman), 126, 203,
229, 290.
Aldrich, Thomas B., 11, 116, 126 and
n., 127, 197/., 226-229, 290, 291-
293.
Andrew, John A., 11, 36«., 302.
Andrew, Mrs. John A., 28, 213, 214.
Appleton, Thomas Gold, 115, 116,
126, 152, 154, 209, 211, 212, 213,
216, 246, 253.
Aristotle, 133.
Arnold, Matthew, 288.
Astor, John Jacob, 76, 77.
Atlantic Monthly, 6, 13, 14, 107, in,
191 «., 209, 233, 252, 281, 282, 302.
Bacon, Francis, Lord, 1 1 2.
Baker, Sir Samuel, 149.
Barbauld, Anna L. A., loi.
Barker, Fordyce, 151, 185.
Barlow, Francis C, 61.
Barrett, Lawrence, 240.
Bartol, Cyrus A., 114, 215, 239.
Beal, James H., 143.
Beal, Louisa (Adams), 42, 143.
Beal, Thomas, 199.
Beecher, Henry Ward, 89, 224, 263,
267-269, 270.
Bell, Helen (Choate), 98, 143, 288.
Bellows, Henry W., 199.
Bentzon, Th. See Blanc, Marie T.
Bigelow, George T., 36.
Bigelow, Mr. and Mrs., I43, 144,
Blagden, Isa, 260.
Blake, Harrison G. O., 89, 90.
Blanc, Marie Therese, 288, 289, 293.
Blessington, Countess of, 274.
Blumenbach, Johann F., 128, 129.
Boccaccio, Giovanni, 58.
Booth, Edwin, 28, 198-203, 210,
240-241.
Booth, J. Wilkes, 28, 198, 199.
Booth, Junius Brutus, 196.
Booth, Mary (Mrs. Edwin), 241.
Booth, Mary A. (Mrs. J. B.), 198.
Boswell, James, 60.
Boutwell, George S., 89.
Bradford, George, 81, 82, 90,
Bright, John, 177.
Bronte, Charlotte, 131, 266.
Brooks, Phillips, 36 «., 94, 288.
Brown, John, Pet Marjorie, 59.
Browne, Charles F., 21.
Brownell, Henry Howard, 29.
Browning, Elizabeth Barrett, 270.
Browning, Robert, 43, 142, 260, 269.
Bruneticre, Ferdinand, 288.
Bryant, William Cullen, 239, 257.
"Buffalo Bill." See Cody, W. F.
Bugbee, James M., 126.
Bull, Ole, 225,
3o8
INDEX
Burr, Aaron, 270, 271.
Butler, Benjamin F., 95.
Cabot, Mrs., 216.
Caldcron dc la Barca, Pedro, no.
Carleton, G. \V., 233.
Carl> le, Jane Welsh, 75, I42, 220.
Carlyle, Thomas, 73, 75, 79, 89, 14I,
I42, 165, 167, 190, 191, 220.
Channing, W. Kllcry, 81, 98, 114.
Cheney, Arthur, 216.
Chenev, F.iinah D., 114.
Chiid.Lydia M., 265, 266.
Childs, George W., 64.
Choate, Rufus, 288.
Cicero, 45.
Clapp, Henry, 185.
Clarke, James Freeman, 72, 114.
Clarke, Sara, 205.
Clemens, Samuel L., 232, 2^^, 244-
257, 305.
Clemens, Mrs. S. L., 245 j^.
Cobden, Richard, 177.
Cody, William F., 294.
Colchester (medium), 168, 169, 170.
Collins, Charles, i6«,
Collins, Mrs. Charles (daughter of
Dickens), 190.
Collins,W.Wilkic, 145,189.
Collyer, Robert, 215.
Conway, Juilge, 219.
Cooke, George W., laa,
Crabl>c, (Jcorge, 186.
Crawford, Thomas, 264.
Crawford, Mrs. Thomas, 264, 265.
Cubas, Isal)clla, 22, 23.
Curtis, George Wiljiani, 14, 23> IM,
1 88
Curtis, Mrs. G. W., 14.
Cushing, Caleb, 266, 267.
Cushman, Charlotte, 123,219-222.
Dana, Charlotte, i6i.
Dana, Richard H., Jr., 93, 95, 116,
144, 2<0, 27«.
Dana, Mrs. R. H., Jr., 92, 93.
Dana, Sallic, 161.
Daniel, (Jeorge, 95.
Dante, .Alighieri, 258.
Davidson, Fxlith, 99.
Davis, George T., 19, 20.
Dennet, of mc Nation, 1 27.
Dc Normandie, James, 81.
Dewey, Dr., 219.
Dickens, Bessy, 194.
Dickens, Catherine (Hogarth), 160.
Dickens, Charles, in America, 138-
188; his readings, I40, I44, 145,
152, 157, 17', >72. 181, 182;
letters of, to J. T. F., 150, n^i;
' -. 32, 33, n 8, 1 19, I 20, r35-195,
209, 210, 211, 212, 223,240.
Dickens, Charles, Jr., 194.
Dickens, John, 175.
Dickens, Mary: quoted, 193; I40,
164. 169, 194.
Dickinson, Lowes, 2^2.
Dodge, Mary Abigail, I44, 220, 221.
Dolby, George, 136, 138, 139, I40,
143, 144, 149, 150, 161, \hi, 165,
1^)6, 171, 173, 178, 180, 185, 189,
190.
Donne, Father, 102.
Donne, lohn, 95.
Dorr, Charles, I49, 209.
Dorr, Mrs. Charles, 35, I49, 150,
209, 215.
Drydcn, John, 109.
Duffcrin, Karl of, 163.
Dumas, .Alex., 21 1.
Dumas, A]cx. ,fi/s., 211.
Du Mauricr, George, 300.
Dunn, Rev. Mr., 122,
P'.ccE Homo, 167.
Kliot, Charles W., 41.
Kliotson, Dr., 182, 183.
Kllsler, Fanny, 24.
Kmerson, Kdith, 89, 91. And see
Forbes, Edith (Emerson).
P'merson, Edward W., 94, 103, 104.
Emerson, Ellen, 88, 94, 96, 97, 99,
ICO, 103, 104.
Emerson, Lilian (Jackson), letter of,
to Mrs. F., 88; 61, 62, 89, 94,^)5,
99, 101, 203.
Emerson, Ralph Waldo, letter of, to
J.T. F., 87; 14, 15/;., 24, 61, 62,
67, 73. 74, 79, 83 84, 8fr-105, 130,
131, 141, 158, 161, 165, 203, 206,
238, 239, 289.
Emerson, W. R., 219.
England, Hawthorne on, Kg, 60.
Everett, Edward, 116, 270, 271.
INDEX
309
Everett, William, 270.
Every Saturday, 1 97.
Falstaff, Sir John, i 10.
Fechter, Charles, 139, 146, 148, 149,
159) i79> i90> '9') 209 _^.
Fiefd, John W., 124.
Field, Kate, 152, 259, 260, 261.
Fielding, Henry, Tom Jones, no,
Fields, Annie, disposition of her
papers, 3; her journals, 4, 12;
H. James quoted on, 5 ; marriage,
1 1 ; her neighbors, 1 1 ; and Leigh
Hunt, 15, 16; letter of Holmes to,
on her memorial volume, 50, 51 ;
her books, 53 ; H. James, Sr.,
quoted on, 85; "Thunderbolt
Hill," loi ; her character as re-
vealed in her diary, 132-134; her
championship of Dickens, 156,
157; the variety of her friend-
ships, JgSJf.; her ode for the in-
stallation of the Music Hall organ,
219, 220, 221 ; with J. T. F.,
visits Mark Twain at Hartford,
ijfSff.; and the cause of equal
rights for women, 275, 278 ; her
skill in digesting reports of conver-
sations, 279, 280; her intimate
friendship with Miss Jewett, 281
ff.; her poetry, 285, 286; list of
her published prose works, 286
friends of her later years, 288
travelling with Miss Jewett,289^.
and the President of Haiti, 290,
291; visits Mistral, 293-297:
visits H. James, Jr., at Rye, 297
301 ; quoted, on Miss Jewett, 302 ,
her last years, 304, 365 ; the^last
words in her diary, 305; her
death, 305. James T. Fields:
Biographical Notes, 4, 13, 16, 50;
Authors and Friends, 4, 31, 86, 87,
105, 129, 134, 279; A Shelf of Old
Books, I 2 k.; Hawthorne, '^4.
Fields, Eliza J. (Willard), ik
Fields, James T., early days in
Boston, 10, II, 196 ; marries Annie
Adams, 1 1 ; their home on Charles
St., II, 12, 137, 138, 218, 219;
editor of the Atlantic, 14, 58, 67,
87, 107, 111,119, 191 «., 233, 282;
as raconteur, 21 ; Holmes quoted
on his position in the literary
world, 34; retires from business,
40; H. James, Sr., quoted on, 85 ;
his love of the theatre and stage
folk, 196, 197; his death, 280;
fosters Mrs. F.'s friendship with
Miss Jewett, 283.
Yesterdays with Authors, 4, 54,
55, 62, 137, 176 w., 190.
Fields, Osgood & Co., 10.
Fiske, John, 48.
Forbes, Edith (Emerson), 91.
Forbes, William H., 91.
Forrest, Edwin, 207, 218.
Forrest, Mrs. Edwin, 218.
Forster, John, 154, 160, 163. 171,
213.
Foster, Charlotte, 259.
Frothingham, Octavius B., 274.
Froude, James A., 68, 293.
Fuller, Margaret, 24, 239.
Fulton, J. D., 122.
Furness, William H., loi w.,102 , 103.
Garrett (impressario), 214.
Gaskell, Elizabeth C. S., 131.
Godwin, Mrs. William, 16.
Goethe, Johann W. von, WHhelm
Meister, 132, 133.
Gorges, Sir F., 74.
Gounod, Charles, 44.
Grant, Julia Dent, 159.
Grant, Ulysses S., 59, 262.
Grau, Maurice, 222.
Greene, George W., 19, 20, 44, 45,
47, 126, 141, 256, 258, 260.
Gregory, Lady, 218.
Guiney, Louise Imogen, 288.
Haiti, President of, 290, 291.
Hale, Edward E., 93.
Hale, John P., 261.
Hallam, Henry, 89.
Hamilton, Gail. See Dodge, Mary
Abigail.
Hammersley, Mr., 247.
Harper's Weekly, 14.
Harris, William T., 81.
Harte, F. Bret, 117, 233-243.
Harte, Mrs. F. B., 239, 240.
3IO
INDEX
Harvard College, Commemoration
I3ay at, 36 n.
Hawthorne, Julian, 15, 144.
Hawthorne, Nathaniel, death of,
27, 28,67; letters at, to J. T. F.,
';4, I?. 5^; his last letter, 65-^)7;
i3, U, 15 and n., 18, ly. p, 32,
3.1, 54-72, 97, 105, I 27, 236.'
Hawthorne, S<jphia (Pealxidy), let-
ter tr) Mrs. F. on Hawthorne, 70-
72; 61,65,66,67,68,91,144,246.
Hawthorne, Una, 15, 97, 221.
Hawthorne, E. M., sister of Nathan-
iel, 69,
Hayes, Isaac I., 33, 34.
Hcrl>crt, George, 95.
Hcrrick, Robert, 95.
Higginson, Thomas W., 114.
Hill, Thomas, 92.
Hillard, George S., 17, 18, 19, I43.
Hoar, Kbcnezcr R., 37, 90, 91, I4I.
Hogarth, Gcorgina, quoted, 193,
194; 140, 155, 165, 195.
Holmes, .Amelia (Jackson), 30, 34,
39, 40, 4". S'. 'SJ, 203, 213, 214,
221.
Holmes, Oliver Wcmlell, his rela-
tions with the Kieldscs, generally,
17-52; letters of. to J. T. F., 17.
49, and to Mrs. F., 50: 11, 13,54,
90, 94, 96, no, 1 1 1 n., 115, 116,
117, 118, i3<, 141, 142, 203, 205,
20^>, 207, 208, 221, 256, 257, 273,
288.
Holmes, Oliver Wendell, Jr., 21,31.
Home (medium), 163, 168.
Horace, 238.
H<iwe, jufia Waril, 9, 10, 61, 90, 1 14
and n., 221.
Howe, Laura (Mrs. Richards), 150.
Howe, Samuel G., 219, 273.
Howells, William D., 38, 116, 166.
Howes, Miss, 236.
Howisfin, George H., 81.
Hunt, Henry, 48.
Hunt, Ixrigh, 15, 16, 58, 122.
Hunt, T. Sterrv, 199.
Hunt. William' M., 9^^, 97-99, 230,
232.
Hunt. Mrs. W. M.. 9^, 98, 222, 23a
Hyacinthc, Pcre, 44.
Incelow, Jean, 142,
Jackson, Charles T., 94 and n.
James, Alice, 77, 81, 83.
James, George Ablwt, 42.
James, Henrv, Sr., letter of, to
J. T. F., 81, and to Mrs. F., 83,
K5; 72-85.
James, Mrs. Henry, 75, j-;, 81.
James, Henry. Jr.. ijuoted, 6, 7, 137,
281; letter of. to author, 8, 9;
119, 120,297 301.
Jan (li<K)th's servant), 200, 202.
Jefferson, Joseph. 203-208, 247.
Jewett, Sarah Orne, her intimate
relations with Mrs. F., 28IJf.,302-
304; her early days, 281, 282;
ncr literary work, 28:-284; cor-
resix)ndencc with Mrs. F., 288,
289; H. James on her work, 30x3;
her death, 302; 12, 50.
Johns(jn, Andrew, impeachment of,
1 5'>; :6i, 26:, 263.
Johnson. Samuel, 60.
Jonvjn, Ben. 96.
Julius Ca-sar, 45.
Keats, John, 43, 68, 206, 207.
Kellogg, Klijah, 271, 272.
KemMe, Charles, Hy6.
Kcmble, Frances Anne, J 96, 222,
223. 224.
Kcnnard, Mr., 267, 268.
King, Preston, 262, 263.
Kirkup. Seymour S., 258.
Knowlton, Helen M., 232.
I^MARTINE, AlPHONSE DE, 296, 297.
Lamb, Charles, 270.
I^ndor, Walter Savage, 259-261.
L.ingdon,Mr., Mark Twain's father-
in-law, 245.
Langdon, Mrs., 246.
Larcom, Lucy, 70.
I^throp, George P., 97.
Lafhrop, Rose (Hawthorne), quoted,
^7".; 97, '44-
I^ar, Exlward, 280.
I^clercq, Carlotta, 2l6.
I^maTtrc, Frederick, 178, 179, 180,
211.
INDEX
3"
Lincoln, Abraham, assassination of,
28, 198; 55, 56,77,262,263.
Livermore, Mary A., 275-278.
Locke, David R., 33.
Longfellow, Alice, 42, 96, 224.
Longfellow, Charles, 128, 216.
Longfellow, Edith, 42, 213, 214.
Longfellow, Mrs. Ernest W., 42.
Longfellow, Henry W., 13, 19, 23>
34, 35, 39, 42, 43, 44, 45, 46, 47,
48, 60 and «., 90, 96, 97, 98, 99,
109, 115, 116, 117, 119, 123, 124,
125, 126, 127, 128, 129, 141, 144,
152, 153, 159, 160, 161, 172, 205,
206, 207, 208, 209, 211, 212 and
w., 213, 214, 215, 216, 222, 223,
224, 243, 256, 257, 258, 273.
Longfellow, Mrs. H. W., 55, 223.
Longfellow, Samuel, 42, 2i2«.
Loring, Charles G., 36 n.
Lowell, Frances (Dunbar), 123, 124.
Lowell, James Russell, letters of, to
J. T. F., 107, 108, 112, 113, 120,
141 «. ; 5, 13, 33,34, -^i;, 36«., 90,
92, 93, 94, 95, 104, 105, 106, 107
ff., 116, 117, 123, 124, 126, 127,
149, 159, 163, 164, 166, 243, 273.
Lowell, Mabel, 107, 113, 123, 124,
149.
Lunt, George, 214.
Luther, Martin, 89.
Lytton, Edward Bulwer, Lord, 168,
I76,;i77.
Macready, William, 218.
Maistre, Joseph de, 221.
Mars, Anne F. H., 210, 211.
Mathews, Charles, 207.
Merivale, Herman, 95.
Miller, Joaquin, 43, 126.
Milton, John, 74.
Mistral, Frederic, 293-297.
Mistral, Mme. Frederic, 295, 296,
297.
Mitchell, Donald G., 185.
Mitford, Mary R., 98.
Montaigne, Michel de, 112, 238, 239.
Morton, VV. T. G., 94 and n.
Motley, J. Lothrop, 37.
Mott, Lucretia C, 74.
Murdoch, James E., 217, 218.
Music Hall, Boston, great organ in,
219, 220, 221.
"Nasby, Petroleum V." 6"^^ Locke,
D. R.
Nichol, Professor, 90.
Nilsson, Christine, 214, 224-226.
Norton, Caroline (Sheridan), 46.
Norton, Charles Eliot, 92, 103, 104,
141, 144, 172, 185, 187.
Norton, Mrs. C. E., 163.
O'Brien, Fitz- James, 227-229.
O'Connell, Daniel, 173, 176, 177.
Orsay, Count d', 145.
Osgood, James R., 116, 136, 151,
153, 161, 162, 165, 166, 167, 185.
Parker, Harvey D., 206.
Parkman, Francis, 104, 105.
Parkman, Mrs. Francis, 35.
Parkman, George, murder of, 153.
Parsons, Thomas W., 208, 214.
Parton, James, no, m, 232.
Peabody, Elizabeth, 82, 119.
Pedro, Dom, Emperor of Brazil, 1 27,
128.
Perabo, Ernst, 224.
Phelps, Elizabeth Stuart, 275.
Phi Beta Kappa, Harvard (1868),
36, 37; 92-
Phillips, Wendell, 89, 114.
Phipps, Colonel, 188, 189.
Pickwick, Mr., 11 1.
Pierce, Franklin, Hawthorne's loy-
alty to, 13, 14, 15.; 57, 58,67.
Pierce, Mrs. Franklin, death of, 57,
58.
Pierce, Henry L., 229, 290.
Poore, Ben Perley, 266.
Pratt, Mrs. Ellerton, 288.
Prescott, Harriet (Mrs.Spofford), 58.
Putnam, George, 36 w., 213.
Putnam, John P., 221.
QuiNCY, Edmund, 86, 273.
Quincy, Josiah, 85, 275, 276, 277.
Quincy, Josiah P., 86, 92, 93.
Quincy, Mrs. Josiah P., 92.
Quixote, Don, no.
312
INDEX
Radical Clitb, 114.
Raymond, John i"., 253.
Read, John M., 31, 32.
Read, T. Buchanan, 44.
Reade. Charles, 146.
Rip Van Winkle, iii.
Ripley, Miss, 88.
Ripley, Mrs., 91.
Ristori, Adelaide, 222.
Rogers, Samuel, 185.
Rossctti, Christina, <>7
Rowsc, Samuel \V., 1 52.
Russell, Thomas, 261.
Sanborn, F. B., 68.
Saturday Club, 104, 105, 116 and n.
Schur/, Carl, 266.
Scott-Siddons, Mrs., no.
Seward, William H., 28, 219, 267.
Shaw, Ixmuel, 232.
Shaw, Robert Cj., I4, 24.
Shelley. Percy B., 16.
Sherman, William T., 7-.
ShicI, Mr., 173, 176.
Silsl>cc, Mrs., 9>, 143-
Smith, Alexander, 1-, 19.
Smith, Samuel F., 47.
Smith, Sydney, 89, 2«7.
Somerset, Duchess o^ 46.
Stanley, Fxlward Ci. S.S. (aftcnvard
14th F.arl of Derby), 173, 1 74, 1 75.
Stanton, F^lwin M., 267.
Stci>hen, l.eslic, 95.
Sterling, John, 75.
Stone, I.ucy, 1 14.
Story, William W., 116.
Stotharil, Thomas, 190.
Stowc, Calvin F., 272,
Stowe, "(icorgie," 38, 39.
Stowe, Harriet Becchcr, 38, 39, 61,
191 and «., 2^>8, 272.
Sumner, Charles, 42, 44, 45, 46, 48,
77, 105, 219,258-267.
Tavlor, Bayard, 109, 1 10, 1 1 1, 1 1^',
117, 118, 119, 228, 26*1.
Taylor, Mrs. Bayard, 109, no, ni.
Tennent, Sir Fmerson. 153.
Tcnnvson, Alfred, Ixird, 254, 279.
Tennyson, Lady, 279.
Terry, Ellen, 218, 300, 301.
Thackeray, William M., 32, 33, n i,
I ?4, 2^6.
Thaxtcr, Cclia, 98, 129-131, 152,
154. 2«8.
Thompson, Launt, 198.
Thorcau, Helen, 62, 74.
Thnreau, Henry D., 14, 62, 68, 74,
89, 90.
Thoreau, Sophia, 68.
Thoreau, Mrs. (mother of H. D.T.),
6:, 68, 74.
Ticknor, William D., 63/.
Tick nor and Fields, 10.
Ticknor, Reed and Fields, 17.
Towne, Alice, 45.
Townc, Helen, 45.
Townshend, Chaunccy, 169.
Trimble, Colonel, 273.
Twain, Mark. See Clemens, Sam-
uel L.
Upham, J. Baxter, 221 and n.
Vai'Ohan, Hekrv, 74, 81, 95.
Viardot-Garcia, Michelle F. P., 225.
Victoria, Queen, 1 87, 1 88.
Vicuxtcmps, Henri, 225.
Ward, Artemus. See Browne,
Charles F.
Ward, Mary A. (Mrs. Humphry),
288.
Wanl, Samuel, 90.
Warren, William, 203, 205, 206.
Washington, Cicorgc, 259.
Wasson, David A., n4.
Watcrston, Mrs., 24.
Watts, Isaac, loi.
Webster, John W.. 153.
Whipple, Edwin P., 20.
White, .Andrew D., 92.
Whitman, Sarah, 288.
Whitney, .Anne, loi, 102, 206.
Whitticr, Elizal>eth, 2i;9.
Whitticr, John G., 39, 40, 68, 70,
n4, 129, 130, 131, 161, 222, 244,
288
Willard, Eliza J. See Fields, Eliza
J. (Willard).
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